


Eros & Trouble

by mattzerella_sticks



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awkward Dean Winchester, Blow Jobs, Castiel and Dean Winchester Falling in Love, Castiel lived a long life, Dean Winchester Has Magic, Dean Winchester In Love, Destiel Harlequin Challenge, Destiel Harlequin Challenge 2019, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fate & Destiny, Gay Dean Winchester, Hurt Dean Winchester, Led Zeppelin - Freeform, Love Confessions, Love/Hate, M/M, Mini-Bang, Mythology - Freeform, Olympus - Freeform, Prophecy, Screw Destiny, Sex Magic, Suspicious Dean Winchester, Temporary Character Death, The Power Of Love, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, True Love, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-05-31 16:02:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19429366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mattzerella_sticks/pseuds/mattzerella_sticks
Summary: Dean Winchester was your average bartender, save for the fact that he’s an orphan with a seriously bad penchant of falling in love with the worst men possible. Time after time, broken heart after broken heart, normal people would give up on ever finding their soulmate. But not Dean; he still holds onto hope that he will meet the man of his dreams. And the Adonis with the blue eyes could be him, even if he wears such a creepy trench coat. He should have known his heart would lead him to nothing but trouble…Cas - or Eros, as he’s better known - drags Dean into a world he never knew existed but has lived alongside his own for longer than he ever realized. He meets the refugees of Olympus, cast out after the Fates banished them, and learns not only about the lives of the homeless Olympians but also his own heritage. They keep telling Dean he has the power to save them all, but all his life he never had the power to control anything. His heart is even more powerful than his will, still pining after the man who uprooted his comfortable ignorance. Then again… could it be Dean Winchester’s heart that is the key to saving them all?Mini-Bang for the Destiel Harlequin Challenge 2019





	1. Nock the Arrow

**Author's Note:**

> I am so excited to share this with you all I have had this finished for months and the urge to post it was SO STRONG, but I held out because I knew I had a post date. That being said thank you for clicking on this story and get ready to lose yourself in an enchanting story about love, mythology, and fate.
> 
> When I saw the story summary I knew I had to write it. I love Greek Mythology, and immediately ideas flew into my head as if inspired by the Muses themselves. Not only do I reference myths but also pop culture related to these myths. So expect to see Hercules, ancient stuff, and very obvious inspo from both the Wonder Woman New 52 issues and Wonder Woman Rebirth (after the Dark Metal event) - I used those to help shape what the gods & goddesses looked like, acted, and how Olympus worked.
> 
> Without further ado, enjoy the read!

Dean stares at the grey wall in front of him, slumped onto the one behind him, repeating the past events on a loop. He worries at a hangnail on his thumb, pulling at it until he feels it begin to tear, then immediately letting it go before it rips. Even though the room was made from rough brick, it’s not completely soundproof. A loud clang sounds from nearby, and he accidentally peels the skin.

“Fuck!” he curses, hand flailing. Dean sticks his thumb back in his mouth, sucking at the wound. “Great,” Dean growls around the digit, “another shitty thing to add to this already _craptastic_ day…”

For the umpteenth time since he was left alone, Dean rewinds the tape in his mind and hits play when the whole crazy adventure started. When his world was turned upside down. When he met the latest guy to knock him off his feet.

* * *

“Two Harvey Wallbangers… I got two – yep, here you go.” Dean hands the two glasses over to the woman in the pinstripe suit. She grabs it with a smile, the sweet fiver sticking out of the tip jar. He pushes it in deeper, moving on to collect another order from the guy with a man-bun and tattoos up his arms. It’s a busy night, but Dean thrives in front of a crowd. Better than his partner for the evening. Gordon fumbles with the bottles and snarls when a customer says more than five words to him. Alistair promised Dean he’d get the hang of it soon. It’s been five months and he still hates sharing his tips with the other man.

On nights like these the orders blend together, and nothing really sticks out about the drinkers who wanted them; until a deep voice asks for vodka. Dean would have asked if he wanted it ‘on the rocks’ if he didn’t suspect the man already smuggling some in his throat. He turns to address the customer, and freezes. Their eyes lock, and it feels like Cupid himself pierced his heart.

His eyes are an unnatural shade of blue. Dean cycles through all the different ‘blue’ things he could use to compare it to and landed on the Curaçao resting on the high shelf behind him. Both are electric and enticing. Moving past the eyes, Dean takes in the rest of his features. Chiseled jaw blanketed by a shadow that looks more like a nine o’clock than a five o’clock. Lips just the right amount of chapped, inviting and asking to be wet. Dark, messy hair he wants to make worse by running his own fingers through it. Tanned skin better suited for the coast than Middle America, especially in winter. He’d say more about his body if there weren’t a frumpy trench coat in the way.

It didn’t matter though. Between the seconds where the man asked him for the vodka and when Dean nodded, not trusting his voice to stay steady, he fell in love.

Lucky for him the vodka was within arms reach. Dean pours two fingers into a glass and slides it across the bar. When the customer goes to reach for it, he stops short and keeps him from it.

The man raises a brow.

Dean smirks. “Company policy. I need to know every customers’ name and relationship status before I serve them.”

His line earns itself a smile and chuckle; the man’s eyes dip down then flit back up to meet Dean’s. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Dean sighs, “If I don’t get it I’m liable to be fired…” He bats his eyelashes, putting on his best pout.

“That would be a shame… and I do want my drink…” He sighs, feigning exasperation. “My name is Cas and – currently – I happen to be seeing someone.”

Dean’s grin falters, but doesn’t fade. His fingers curl possessively around the glass. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” Cas nods, “Right now, across the counter.” He winks, butterflies swarming in Dean’s stomach. His nerves unclench themselves at Cas’s joke, grip loosening on the drink. Cas takes it from him, sipping at it. “So, now that you know my name…”

“Dean,” he says holding his now free hand in front of him, “At your service.”

Cas grabs it, lightning sparking at the touch. “I hope so.”

After that, Dean never strayed too far from Cas’s orbit. Throughout the remainder of his shift, Cas is his focus. Whenever he could, Dean would lean across the bar and steal a few seconds of the other man’s time. Cas gives it gladly, even emptying his glass in a single gulp to keep Dean by him longer. After pouring his tenth glass of vodka, he was worried.

“I can handle my liquor better than you’d think,” Cas tells him, “But it’s sweet that you asked.”

“So you’re…”

“Conscious and able to make _sound_ decisions,” he says, smirking, “If you were wondering?”

He was; his blush floods over his face, wiping away his freckles. Dean stutters out a joke and tends to a group of women who whined for more refills. And like he has every time Dean serves another customer, Cas’s intense gaze follows him. Used to performing with eyes on him, it’s rare for Dean to trip up. But his goal of impressing the other man goes unfulfilled as his hands revolt and he fares no better than Gordon.

Dean nearly spills a Malibu Sunrise on an old man when he notices Cas stand. He races over, ignoring at least three different calls for drinks. “You going?”

“Not far,” Cas says, “When do you get off shift?”

Glancing at the clock, Dean notices the long hand on the nine. “Fifteen.”

“I’ll be outside.”

“You sure?” He looks to the window, at the snow falling steadily to the ground. “Don’t want anything to _freeze_ and fall off…”

“I don’t get cold,” Cas shrugs, “I’ll be outside.”

Cas tries to leave, but Dean grabs him by his arm. “Wait – _where_?”

“You’ll know.” He slips out of his grasp and exits. Another man grabs his seat as soon as he’s taken two steps away, waving a ten in his face and asking for an Aperol Spritz. Dean snatches it from him, along with the money from the others, churning out their orders so he can leave. He spies Bela sneaking out the back room and barks her name out. Handing her his apron, Dean escapes.

Stopping at his locker, Dean grabs his jacket and tugs it on. The brown leather, the only thing his dad left him in the will besides his car, fit snugly across his shoulders. He zips it tight to keep the warmth in, hoping it staves the chill off long enough so he doesn’t shudder when talking with Cas. When it happens, he wants it to be from his breath ghosting across his ear as he whispers. Or by their fingers tangling together as Dean leads him to his Baby. Clearing his mind of those thoughts, Dean shuts his locker door and exits.

He wishes Cas told him where he’d wait. Searching through the half-filled parking lot, Dean couldn’t find the rumpled trench coat that’s become so familiar, so quickly. Still, he doesn’t believe Cas just left. His heart squeezes as if ensnared, and the person on the other end pulls him where he needs to be.

Legs take him towards his Baby, where Cas waits. He admires her sleek, black frame; hand sliding over the hood. Dean walks to the other side, dimples showing under the streetlights. “Hey.”

“Hello, Dean.”

He taps at Baby’s hood. “You like her?”

“She’s an impressive chariot,” Cas tells him, “Yours?”

Dean nods. “What gave it away?”

Cas shrugs. “A feeling I had…” He drags his hand away, meeting Dean’s gaze from across Baby. Like before in the bar, thunder rolls across his body and he gets drunk on his eyes alone. A wind cuts across the parking lot, but he doesn’t mind. His body warms itself from the intense power burning within Cas. “So,” Cas continues, “do you want to draw this out or are you going to come over here?”

Dean huffs out a laugh; Cas’s boldness makes him giddy. “Don’t want to save it for the bedroom?”

“I fear if I don’t have a taste I’ll starve before we make it there.”

Rolling his eyes, Dean concedes. He ambles around his car, tracing her lines on his way to Cas. Dean keeps an inch of space between them when he stops. Now away from the counter, he drags his eyes down Cas’s body. Underneath the surprisingly open trench coat is a sapphire blue tie. It matches the suit color, and Dean wonders if the man owns any other shade other than blue. He brushes the thought aside, since it works so well for the other man. Reaching the end of his journey, Dean expects nothing special past the very obvious bulge nestled in his pants. When he reaches his feet, however, Dean pauses.

“Why the fuck aren’t you wearing any shoes?”

Two fingers brush against his forehead, and Cas’s answer doesn’t matter. Dean falls unconscious.

* * *

He’s lying on something firm. At first he thinks he’s back on the cheap cot his dad made him and Sam sleep on when they lived under John’s roof. Before Sam left for college and liver cancer stole his dad. Since he now lives in the cheap apartment he rents over a convenience store he splurged on a Memory Foam mattress, he tosses that idea out. Dean hasn’t been in his old home in years. So he guesses whomever he hooked up with had a terrible bed. Except, as he remembers, he didn’t go home with anyone. He meant to, meeting Cas in the parking lot –

Dean shoots up with a gasp, Cas’s name on his lips. In any other instance, it’d be a good thing… except he wakes up in an unfamiliar room that closely resembles a prison cell. He scans the room, trying to stem the panic attack that leaks into him by finding a clue as to where he is. In the midst of his freak out, a door opens to his right.

Cas enters, smiling. “Good, you’re awake.”

He’s on his feet before Cas can say anything else. Dean storms up to him and slams his fist across his cheek. Regretting it instantly, he curls his bruised hand to his chest, stumbles backwards, and mutters expletives under breath.

Cas’s smile never faded throughout Dean’s performance. “I can see you’re handling all this well.”

“Where the fuck did you take me,” Dean asks, glaring at him. It’s not sustainable, the longer he maintains eye contact the more knives stabbing themselves into his heart. He ducks his head soon enough.

“You’re probably going through a lot,” Cas tells him, “I can explain… if you’re willing to listen.” He steps into Dean’s line of sight; hand out to help him stand, his toes peeking out from behind his pants cuffs.

Dean picks himself back up. “ _Fine_. As long as you’re not planning to murder me.”

Cas skews his head to the side. “Trust me when I say your survival is of the utmost important to us.”

“ _Us_.”

“Yes,” Cas says, “This is a… long story. You may want to get comfortable.” He gestures towards the bed behind them, an almost mirror image to the one in Dean’s childhood bedroom. Dean flirts with the idea to question if he went to the same military surplus store before biting his tongue. His heart is too fragile to joke around with the man who led him on. Instead he moves over to it silently, drawing his knees up to his chest and watching Cas pace before him.

“I feel as though I must apologize before I begin –“

“You _think_?” Dean asks, “Buddy, you owe me _more_ than an apology. Like, do you even know what I was going to do with you? I was gonna ride you like a mechanical bull!” The night catches up to him, and he giggles unexpectedly. “Well, you can forget having a piece of _this_ ass.”

Cas blushes, finally appearing as contrite as he claims to be. “I realize you had different intentions,” he says, “and I shouldn’t have... _abused_ my powers to sway your trust –“

“ _Powers_ ,” Dean scoffs, “Don’t you think that’s a little _much_? I mean sure you’re like Greek god handsome but I wouldn’t say that’s anything special…”

The other man smirks at Dean’s comparison. “Thank you for the compliment, but I wasn’t referring to my ‘Greek god handsomeness’.” The air quotes make him look ridiculous, and Dean fights back the intrusive thoughts cooing over his adorableness. “I… needed to make sure you met with me because I… because we have need of you, Dean Winchester.”

His body tenses immediately. “How the fuck do you know my name?”

“We know many things about you.”

“That’s a little unfair because I barely know anything about you besides your name and the fact you _kidnap_ people.”

“You don’t.”

“Come again?”

“You don’t know my name,” Cas sighs, “My… _real_ name.”

Dean eyes him suspiciously, frowning. “Of course,” he mutters, swiping a tired hand across his face. “So if it ain’t Cas… then what is it really?”

“Eros,” Cas tells him, “the God of Love.”

Dean laughs. A full-blown belly chuckle escapes, and he wheezes into his legs. “Good one,” he says, blinking away the tears, “ _Truly_. Glad to know you’re not only a liar but you’re crazy, too.”

“…You don’t believe me?”

“It’s not your fault,” Dean starts, tone dripping with condescension, “I don’t believe in _any_ God. Especially ones from fairy tales made up by people thousands of years ago to explain why the world worked because they were too _stupid_ to use their common sense.”

Cas squints at him, scowling. “You lack faith? Is that it?”

“I believe in plenty, Cas,” Dean says, “Just not this.”

He hums, but doesn’t respond to Dean’s jabs with another word. Instead he draws back closer to the door, closing his eyes. Instantly, the air shifts around them. Dean glances at the nearby lamp, the only source of light in the room, as it begins to flicker. With the room descending into darkness, the brightest thing becomes Cas. His body glows with an unnatural warmth, rolling over Dean in waves. He gapes as the other man’s body stiffens; the shadows behind him expand into unnatural shapes.

Two giant wings stretch along the walls, bending at each corner to continue forming. The tips end before meeting the back wall. Dean’s mind whirls, trying to process the sight before him. Cas’s wings twitch as if they existed beyond the flat surfaces to which they were drawn on. He opens his eyes, blue eyes like neon that stare deep into his soul. Breath hitching, Dean’s heart beats wildly. “Well,” he says, voice crackling like a frayed wire, “Do you believe me now?”

Nodding, Dean shuts his mouth with a _click_! He can’t speak past the lump in his throat. Cas returns the room to normal, closing the distance between them so he can kneel in front of him.

“I understand this is a lot to take in,” he continues, softly, “But if you let me, I can explain _everything_. All I ask is that you keep an open mind.”

Cas looks at him, waiting for a response. Dean, in trying times like these, relies on his humor. “Not like I can do much else, anyway…”

Accepting his answer as the best he’ll get, Cas stands and clears his throat. “Like I said earlier… I am Eros, the God of Love. At one time, my people and I lived in glorious Olympus… where our cups never emptied of the sweet ambrosia of life, and we wanted for nothing.”

“Lived,” Dean says, “as in past tense?”

Cas sighs. “Yes, it has been many years since we have stepped foot in our wonderful home.”

“You keep going on with all this ‘we’ business – who’re ‘ _we_ ’?”

“My family, the pantheon of Gods, as well as the other citizens of Olympus who were cast out when that terrible curse hit.”

“What curse?”

His jaw clenches and his fingers fan out, flexing. Cas pauses his story, his blue eyes squinting, diluted by a hazy film that dulls their magic and color. Dean bites his lip to stem the worry ready to trickle out from his mouth. He doesn’t owe that to Cas, who kidnapped him and locked him away in this sad, barren room. As that sinks in more, Dean realizes it could have been hours – _days_ , even – that he’s been gone. Who knows what could have happened in that time. He might have missed his weekly call with his brother or his most recent shift at Alistair’s. If he had any friends then his pool of people wondering where he might be would expand past two. Maybe there would be cops organizing search parties and news channels sharing his headshot, and someone would storm in and rescue him while Cas was distracted. Tackling the barefoot freak right now in the midst of his stroke. Picturing it makes Dean’s traitorous heart climb up his throat, and swallowing that is a Herculean feat.

“A curse so terrible…” Cas starts, growl barely above a whisper, “That we were all cast out from our homes… our strings torn from the tapestry of Olympus.”

“But you’re all supposed to be powerful gods, right?” Dean asks, careful where he treads with his sarcastic tone at Cas’s glare. “What I’m trying to say is… who could’ve had the ability to do all that?”

“The Fates.”

At Dean’s blank stare, Cas explains further. “The Fates control our destinies… tie our lives together stitch by stitch. Were there since the beginning and know the end of all things to come.” Dean still doesn’t get it, and Cas sighs. “I believe they were mentioned in a popular Disney movie about us? Maybe then you’d remember... they were three women who fought and shared one eye?”

Dean snaps, smiling. “Right! Okay, I know the Fates.”

“Those were just caricatures,” Cas tells him, tone sharp and biting, “The _real_ Fates were nothing like that. They never served us, it was the other way around… at least it was supposed to be.” He leans against a wall, dragging his hand through his hair and mussing it up further. “They considered m… my family too prideful, that we believed ourselves above their control. To prove that we were always trapped in the web of their making, they evicted Olympus of all who inhabit it and locked the door behind us. We were scattered to the winds…”

Dean squeezes his hands together to keep himself from reaching out. The pain in Cas’s words were familiar, Dean knowing all too well how it felt being unable to go home again. It’s not enough to balance the scales, though. “I don’t get how any of that has to do with me.”

“You are the key to returning us to Olympus,” Cas says, “Or at least… the map to the key.”

That’s all Dean needed to hear. He pushes up from the cot, startling Cas. “Okay, it’s official… I’m asleep, aren’t I?”

Cas seizes. “What?”

“That’s the only way this makes sense,” Dean shrugs, “I’m sorry that you were so bad in the sack that my subconscious made you crazy. But at least you got some cool wings out of it.”

“How can you cast doubt after all you’ve seen?”

“Because out of everything you’ve said, the most unbelievable thing is that I’m some… prophesied hero destined to help you all,” he chuckles, “I mean I barely finished high school. If you bet on me you’re not getting your money’s worth.”

Cas squints at him. “We did not _choose_ you. It was decided, by the Fates –“

“The very women who caused all of this?” Dean asks, “Why would they create a way to end it?”

“All curses come with a solution, a way to end,” Cas says, “The Fates are bound to the laws of the universe and magic like all of us. However, beings like them have more control over the binding. They decided this… fix as the most improbable being to ever exist.”

“A bartender with terrible taste in men?”

“The first child born of love from a union between a human and a Custodial.”

Dean spins to face him. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Dean… haven’t you ever wondered why Mary died?”

He blinks, and Cas is pressed against the wall, Dean’s arm at his throat. His chest heaves with fiery breaths, wishing actual daggers sprung from his gaze to stab at the handsome face inches away from his own. “You don’t get to say her name.”

“And you don’t know your place.” The light show is back, Cas’s eyes powering on and bubbling with energy.

“I thought I was the savior?” Dean applies more pressure to his neck, frowning.

“But I am a god,” Cas says, “The only reason you have me pinned against this wall is because I allow it. Do not make me demonstrate my powers again.” The threat hangs between them like a thin razor, ready to cut if Dean advances any further.

He pushes off of Cas’s chest, stalking back over to the bed. Cas sighs, moving towards the door. “I really don’t want to cause you any harm, Dean, that wasn’t my intention in bringing you here. I want to work with you.”

“Yeah, well… how can I work with you if I don’t even trust you?”

Cas nods. “I hope you will, soon.” Then he leaves, closing the door behind him and beginning Dean’s imprisonment. He screams, collapses onto the cot, and waits.

* * *

It’s been about three days since then. There were no windows in Dean’s room, but he counts the meals Cas brings him. He has seen Cas ten times since that awful conversation. Each plate always bore different, a new peace offering, and every time Dean would eat it in silence as Cas watched. Dean wasn’t ready to speak to him.

Maybe if he hadn’t brought up his mother, it’d be a different story.

Mary Winchester’s death marked the darkest day of his life. When his whole world shifted on its axis, knocked off course and hurtling towards a black hole ever since. Like a pebble hitting a window, the lines cracked and shattered all the people around her. His dad never recovered, spending more time with a bottle of booze than his children. Dean picked up the slack, raising Sam while their father cried himself to sleep every night. Because of this Sam grew up not knowing how kind their father used to be, different than the militaristic drunk they were stuck with. Leaving was an easy choice for him.

Most of his life he assumed it was a cruel joke that Mary died young. When his dad collected Dean and baby Sammy from their neighbor’s house with somber face, he asked why Mary wasn’t with him. His dad couldn’t explain it well, so the first few months Dean asked every night where Mary was until John had enough. He shouted that she was dead, and gone forever. When he realized he wasn’t joking, Dean didn’t speak until he was six.

There was some hope that maybe she left, for whatever reason. Mary ran away and was out there. Sixteen and angry at his dad’s homophobic remarks, he yelled how much he would rather be where Mary is than with him. John only struck him that one time, replying coolly that if he continued liking boys he may very well end up as dead as his mother. Dean let go of the dream of ever seeing Mary again.

Up until now he believed she died normally. Their dad was a vengeful man, and would hunt whoever was responsible instead of becoming a sad shell of his former self. But Cas’s words wiped the slate clean. Mary didn’t die… she was _killed_. He’s angry someone killed his mother. He’s angry people knew and did nothing to ease the pain suffered by his family. He’s angry that he wasted so much time not doing anything to find her killer. Most of all, he’s furious because if her death is tied up in gods and Olympus and the Fates, then the only person to blame is himself.

“Fucking Cas,” Dean mumbles to himself, “Greek God of Love… love of what? Of messing up my life?”

Dean would be lying if Mary’s death were the only thing rubbing at raw nerves. All his life, he’s been known to have an easy heart. Falling in love fast and hard, reaching the peaks of euphoria only to swing down into dark depressions when his feelings weren’t returned in the way he wanted. From straight guys who mocked him to men who only wanted to screw around, his path was paved with mistakes. That didn’t stop him from trying. After everything he’s suffered, Dean still proudly calls himself a romantic. Searching for that all consuming love, exactly what his parents shared before Mary was taken from them. He’s seen love change people, it being the only _true_ magic in the world. Cas asked him what he believed in and love was the only thing. Love kept him by his father’s side right up until the end. What made him forgive Sam for leaving because he knew the hurt his brother faced. Where his willingness to never give up, even after countless defeats, comes from.

He’s not sure there’s any coming back from this though.

The God of Love destroyed Dean’s faith in the very thing he represents. Any normal person would say that’s impossible, that this sudden turn in their nascent relationship should not have this much effect on him. Dean would show them his heart, all its tiny pieces, and tell them to sift through it for the answers. They won’t find reason or logic, strangers in his funny organ.

Dean fights back a sob and stands on wobbly legs, shuffling towards the door. “Cas,” he growls, voice hoarse from disuse, “I _hate_ you. Why _me_? Why did I have to _suffer_?” He slams against the door, pounding. Grabbing at the handle, Dean expects to spend some time tugging at his freedom.

It opens easily.

A strange giggle sounds from far off, and then he realizes it’s much closer. It’s him, laughing at the dark hallway before him. “It’s been open,” he says, “How… how long…”

Glancing back at his cot, Dean musters up his resolve. He takes one step outside his room; knowing whatever hides in the darkness is better than the four walls and silence.


	2. Draw the String

The hallway isn’t truly dark. Once he passes the threshold, he notices a light source not too far away. A torch hangs on the wall, one of many after he turns the corner. Dean follows the trail, more amazed to see actual torches than he is worried about what waits at the end of the path. He tiptoes, though, conscious of the many doors lining the hall between the torches.

After making a right, Dean finally wonders what he’s doing. He knows, logically, that if he wants to escape he’ll need to find an exit. However there’s no telling where that may be. Dean makes every directional decision blindly. Still, wherever he’s going, it’s better than the room he was in. And the further he goes, the less afraid he is of what might be lurking within the shadows. Warmth pulsates from deep inside his chest, temperature changing with each step. He figured out what it meant a few turns back, when he made a left and a cold chill crept into his lungs. Doubling back and heading right instead, the heat rushed in and melted the ice. Like his body knows he’s moving towards safety.

Dean stops at another fork wondering which way will crank his inner thermostat higher when he hears it. A door creaks open from behind. He hisses out a curse, frantically searching for somewhere to hide. There isn’t enough time, and suddenly two arms wrap themselves around his neck.

“I surrender!”

“A new friend!”

He blinks, unsure if he heard her right. Dean stops spinning, grip loosening on his attacker’s pale limbs. His attacker whines, “Aww are we not twirling some more?”

“Who are you?” Dean asks, pretending to ignore the crack in his voice.

The girl giggles, squeezing his neck tighter. “I’m Charlie – your new friend, Dean Winchester!”

“Of course,” he mutters, “you know my name, too.”

“Everyone knows your name! You’re going to get us back into our home!”

Dean bristles at that, unsure whether from how presumptuous she is or because more people drank from Cas’s Kool-Aid. Maybe both. “I never said I’d help.”

Her laughter dies. “What?” she asks, “But… you’re here?”

“Not by choice,” Dean tells her, “Now could you get _off_ me?”

“Right, right… sorry.” She climbs off his back, Dean breathing nice and deep. He spins around to chew her ear off about surprising him, only to stare slack jawed at her legs.

“What?” she asks, tracking his gaze, “Don’t tell me I have toilet paper stuck to my tail again…” Checking her behind for loose Charmin, Dean rapidly tries to convince himself that what he’s seeing is nothing more than a trick. Unlike Cas’s fancy lightshow, there’s no logical explanation for how the girl in front of him has goat legs.

“You… your legs…” He points weakly, finger twitching.

She huffs, crossing her arms. “Yeah, I have them. So do you, what about it?”

“No,” Dean says, “My legs are normal, not – not –“

“Goat legs?” she finishes for him, rolling her eyes. “You know, my legs are normal, too. Their _my_ normal…” Brushing aside a loose strand of red hair, she mutters under breath, “Didn’t know the savior was speciest.”

“Hey!” Dean says, “I am not a… whatever-ist. I volunteered in the election campaign for Laura Kelly!” At her blank stare, he continues. “The governor of Kansas… Democrat… you have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t really care much about the affairs of humans.”

“Human?” Dean raises a brow, “You’re telling me you’re not a human?”

Stomping her hoof, she huffs. “That’s right.”

“Then what are you?”

“I’m a Satyr.” He steals her blank mask and uses it for his own expression. “You know… half person, half goat?” She not only gestures to her legs, but tugs on the small goatee growing from her chin and waves at the small horns protruding from her fiery mane.

“Okay?” Dean says, “It’s… nice to meet you, Satyr?”

“No, my _name_ isn’t Satyr,” she corrects him, “That’s what I _am_. My name is _Charlie._ ”

“Charlie?” Dean repeats, “Isn’t that a little… modern?”

“Dude, it’s a nickname,” she chuckles, “I’d tell you my full name but I’m betting you don’t understood _goat_.”

“Duly noted.”

“Now that we know each other,” Charlie leans against the wall, “You mind telling me where you were going?”

Dean pauses, thinking quickly of a believable lie. Whatever he may come up with his new friend would immediately brush to the wayside. He can tell Charlie has a sharp mind, and not because her horns glint in the torch light. For the entirety of their conversation, as her expressions shifted more violently than winds in a hurricane, her eyes never lost a drop of skepticism. She studied him like an open textbook. He drops his false pretenses and sags. “I was looking for a way out of this maze.”

“Did you try tying a string around your finger?”

He raises a brow. “That’s the trick?”

“No, Daedalus,” Charlie sighs, pushing away and towards him. “You really want to get out of here?”

He nods. “Yeah, I’m sorry about your home or whatever but… yeah, I’m not what Cas said.”

“Cas?”

“Shit, I mean… _Eros_.” The name tastes bitter on his tongue, ‘Cas’ the sweeter of the two identities.

She bleats in understanding, tugging at her wispy goatee. “All right,” she says, “Follow me.” Passing him, Charlie starts down left. Dean jogs to keep up with her.

“Wait,” he says, “you’re really just gonna let me walk out of here?”

“No.”

Dean growls, drags a hand down his face, but nevertheless follows her. “So then where are we going?”

Charlie smirks, flitting her gaze back to meet his for a brief second. “To meet the others, of course!”

They lapse into silence, Dean drawing into himself as Charlie babbles on about their secret hideout and how ‘awesome’ everyone here is. He tunes her out somewhat, hearing bits and pieces every time he adjusts the stations in his mind. She reveals where the hidden bunker is located, and Dean sighs in relief that it’s within Kansas state limits. Lebanon isn’t far from Lawrence, but if he has to hoof it it’ll take forever. Glancing down at Charlie’s legs, he stifles a snicker at the poor choice in words. Instead Dean hopes that there might be a car around that he could hotwire, but doubts he’ll be let alone long enough to try.

The deeper they travel, the further he gets from where he was heading. A frozen rain sweeps over his body, leaving him soaking wet and shivering on the inside. By the time they reach a grand doorway, Dean knows his nipples are chafing against his shirt and his hands have traded fingers for icicles.

“Don’t look so dour,” Charlie says, hands on the knobs, “We’re a pretty fun group of refugees.”

That’s the only reprieve he gets as she swings the heavy wood open with a slam. Tens of eyes dart in their direction, the sea of people within the cavernous room too numerous to give an exact count. “Hey!” she yells, “Look what the goat dragged in!” Then as if she is more Roman than Greek, Charlie shoves him into the den to face the lions.

Dean knows how to work a crowd. What he lacked in focus he made up for with charm. He digs deep for any dregs to offer the crowd, but finds none. Too distracted by the range of people he walked into. No, not people – _creatures_. Women with vines for hair and flowers on their skin. Bodies built like an ox to complement the bull-like features of their faces. Horses unlike any he’s seen before – with horns, with wings, with human torsos. Satyrs like Charlie. Winged women perched on ledges.

There is one man: a short one, with a golden crown of hair and glowing, amber eyes. He parts the crowd and struts his way towards Dean. His smirk makes his palms sweat and heart race for all the wrong reasons. To calm his deteriorating nerves, Dean scans the approaching figure. His shirt was very suggestive, with two women embracing printed on the fabric, and pants that are torn from the pockets down to the cuffed hem. And like Cas, he too wore no shoes. But tattooed on his ankles are tiny wings. He finds him stranger than the Cyclops gaping down at him from nearby.

“If it isn’t our ticket out of here!” the tiny man greets him, “So glad you can join the party.” He reaches him, swinging an arm around his shoulders and latching on. “Dean Winchester everybody!”

Dean is honest enough to admit praise and he have been strangers most of his life. Any show of it left him a flustered mess, tying his tongue worse than strong booze. The raucous cheers that followed his name nearly sent him into a heart attack. “Um… h-hi?”

“Man we’ve been wondering when Eros and his feathery ass were gonna let us meet you,” the man continues, guiding Dean towards a table packed with creatures. With one wave of the hand, they clear for them to sit. Charlie followed, taking the chair at the head of the table. She watches this all with amusement stitched into every smile line. “Granted we’ve been waiting for centuries, so you’d think we learn to be patient…”

“Cen- _centuries_?”

“Well, duh,” he says, “Being magical has its perks…” As if finally realizing how nervous Dean looked, the man switched tactics. He leans forward and grins, more impish then devil. “Where are my manners, this is probably a bit much for you?”

Dean nods.

“Well then maybe we’ll start small,” he reaches a hand out, “The name’s Hermes.”

He leaves him hanging. “Hermes?”

“Yeah, the Messenger? God of Gypsies, Tramps & Thieves?”

“I thought that was Cher?”

“Y’know, I’ve been saying that joke ever since she wrote the song but no one here ever got it,” he chuckles, “It’s nice having a human around here, especially a gay one.”

Dean rolls his eyes. He turns a baleful gaze to Charlie. “I can see what you mean by _fun_.”

“Oh lighten up,” Hermes says, “Once you get to know us, you’ll like us.”

“Maybe not,” Charlie says, “Dean here was trying to _leave_ when I met him.”

“Leave? Why?”

“Apparently he doesn’t think he can help…”

“But he’s the one we’ve been waiting for!”

Dean, annoyed, breaks back into the conversation. “Maybe I don’t _want_ to be that!” Hermes and Charlie blink at him, only further igniting his annoyance. “I mean, shit, all of you think that I’m going to… to… open up my asshole and sunshine’s gonna fall out! But like I told Charlie – like I told _Cas_ – I’m not whoever it is that’ll save your home or whatever.”

Hermes arches a brow. “Cas?”

“Shit,” Dean drags a hand down his face, “Cas – Eros… I met him as Cas and, well, he looks more like a Cas than an Eros.”

“Cas, huh,” Hermes hum to himself, “That’s a new one for ya.”

“What?”

“When you live as long as we do, you gotta change your identity from time to time. Eros – _Cas_ , sorry, has used names like Jimmy, Emmanuel… _Misha_. I’ve had a few as well – my favorite was always Gabriel.”

“Wow so you really… you’re all really…” Dean winces, “ _old_?”

“You have _no_ idea what’s going on do you?” As he shakes his head, Hermes clucks his tongue, “Eros is a man of few words… of course he couldn’t explain it well enough. Why don’t you ask us a few questions then? Maybe that’ll clear things up a bit more.”

Hermes may have a point, and there are many things he would like to understand. His mind overloads though, all his thoughts cramming themselves into his mouth and rubbernecking. Waiting, Hermes tips his chair back and places his feet on the table. Dean focuses on that, and words break through the wall and tumble out in his voice. “Why don’t you wear shoes?”

“What?”

“I mean… I noticed Cas didn’t either,” Dean continues, blushing, “Like, is that a… is that a god thing?”

Hermes smirks, flexing his toes dramatically as he draws out the silence. “You’re right,” he says, “it is a ‘god thing’. See, even before this whole rigmarole with the Fates – he told you about them, didn’t he?” At Dean’s slight nod, Hermes breathes a sigh of relief, “Good. Because the more I talk about them the angrier I get – already I’m starting to get annoyed…”

“Anyway, where was I? Right, ‘god things’… one of our powers was that we could transform into anything we wanted. Animals, objects, you name it – we were less beings and more like… _concepts_. Like clay, able to shape ourselves into what we needed to be at the time. What you’re seeing right now aren’t really clothes, they’re a part of me.”

“You’re not going to blink and be naked are you?” Dean asks, “Because I might be gay but you’re not my type.”

“Well first things first… _rude_. You’d be lucky to see my gorgeous dick. Secondly, _no_ , I can’t just blink and do that. It takes a lot of concentration and energy, and we rather devote our powers to other things. Can’t even transform into animals anymore. We usually change outfits every decade or so, keeping the same bodies. I’ve had this face for _ever_.”

“But that doesn’t explain the ‘no shoes’ thing?”

“Well, we’ve always had problems conjuring those things kinds of things up. Whenever we’d make ourselves human looking, we still needed to tether ourselves to our home through the Earth. There couldn’t be anything getting in the way.”

“Wait a minute,” Dean stops him, again, “You’re telling me Olympus is… here? This isn’t like a ‘Heaven is a Place on Earth’ situation is it?”

Hermes laughs at the reference. “No, no it’s… much more complicated. See Olympus doesn’t really _exist_ on this plane of reality. It’s in another dimension, buried deep within the magic of the ley lines.” Hermes pulls a knife from nowhere and scratches the wooden surface of the table. “Ley lines are these huge strings that circle the Earth and surge with inter-dimensional magical energy. Since this energy is too powerful to contain in a single line it… splinters out.” He gestures to the tiny cracks that followed his swipe. “Allowed us to travel anywhere, to do… _anything_.”

“Then if you can tap into these lines why’re you whittling away down here?” Dean asks, “Can’t you hook up to one of these like a generator and level up? Use it to force your way inside?”

“Not since the curse,” Hermes mutters, “Sure we can draw some strength from it but it’s not the same as before. We went from being able to dive in and submerge ourselves in that power to skimming it and living off of that. Do you know what that does to a god?” Dean tells him no. “It messes you up. There used to be so many of us… a _pantheon_. Over time that changed, starting when our big ol’ daddy Zeus disappeared into the wind. After that we lost more to apathy than to death. You know of Ares, right?”

“God of War,” Dean says, “ _Everyone_ knows Ares.”

“Yeah, well he probably doesn’t appreciate that title anymore,” Hermes chuckles darkly, “During a routine mission investigating some artifacts we were ambushed by the Fates and their goons. Got separated… couldn’t really get a clear read on where he was. That is until a decade later we found him, but he was _different_. Ran with a crowd that turned him on to peace and pacifism.”

“You telling me Ares is a _hippie_?”

“He doesn’t go by that, not anymore…” he sighs, “Last I heard he uses the name Nick, traveling up and down the West Coast in a van. I didn’t mind the personality upgrade, but we needed that bag of dicks to fight…” Hermes meets Dean’s gaze and holds it, reaching across the table for his hands. “And that’s just _one_ of us. We’re all a slip away from surrendering. Being able to feel Olympus, know it exists but unable to return… it’s like getting locked outside of your home at night except all the lights are on inside. It can drive you _crazy_.”

“And it doesn’t stop with the gods,” Charlie adds, drawing Dean’s attention to her, “There were many more creatures who were displaced as well. We never had the luxury to come and go as we pleased… always tagging along with the gods whenever they had need of us. We can’t feel Olympus as they do. Over time many of us have given up hope that we may ever return and lost our magic…” Charlie sniffs, turning to look out at the crowd. “Chose to live mortal lives instead of keeping the hope that our home will be returned to us. Gave up our magic, our history, and our beliefs… choosing to die of age than on the battlefield, fighting for our homes.”

Their stories hurt Dean, drowning him in the waves of sadness that roll of them from talking about the past. It’s a general feeling that spans the entirety of the room; each creature, no matter how wide their smiles, are tinged with the awful stench of depression. He wonders if Cas had the same emotional composition, and if he weren’t too angry would he have noticed. Would he have cared?

“Except we don’t have to wait any longer,” Hermes starts up again, “Because you’re here!”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Like I keep saying, I don’t get how _I_ have anything to do with this.”

“Because you’re _you_ ,” he says, gesturing wildly, “you’re not just one thing you’re… _something_ else. The child of man and –“

“And a Custodial,” Dean finishes for him, “I’m a broken cassette tape at this point but no one’s giving me a good enough explanation! What’s a Custodial and why does it matter that I’m the first of anything? Wasn’t it big in your myths that gods would make babies just by sneezing wrong?”

Hermes opens his mouth, but shuts it within the next second. His eyes dart somewhere behind Dean, and he frowns. He glances behind him, a suspicious feeling inside of who it might be.

Cas stands there, flanked by two others he assumes are gods based on their lack of footwear. It’s not the worse thing. But when he sees him his chest burns that familiar feeling before when his body played hot-and-cold GPS. Dean realizes he wasn’t moving towards an exit, but to wherever Cas was. That thought puts the scowl on his face.

“Dean,” Cas says, “I’m glad you’re finally making use of our space.”

“Finally?” Dean repeats, “You mean I could have left that room whenever?”

Cas skews his head to the side. “Of course? You aren’t our prisoner here… you have every right to explore.”

“But I can’t leave?”

“It’s for your best interest that you shouldn’t leave without one of us accompanying you.”

“Not a prisoner… sure.”

Cas looks towards his friends at his sides; one, a dark-skinned woman in a leather jacket, and the other, a taller man with a strong jaw and a hoodie. “Athena, Hephaestus… you’re dismissed. I’ll be walking Dean back to his quarters, I’m sure whatever Hermes told him was enough for one day.” They nod and disappear within the crowd. Cas offers his hand to him. “May I?”

Dean scrapes his chair backwards, smirking when he scratches at Cas’s feet. “I can manage.” Charlie and Hermes snicker nearby. “But I’m not going back to that awful place. If you want to at least pretend I’m not a prisoner, upgrade my room.”

Cas scowls and glares, his eyes glowing like before. Dean, prepared for this, doesn’t back down. He especially won’t allow himself to blush, even though the heat trapped inside wants to escape at the display of power. The God of Love chickens out first. “Fine,” he says, “I’ll show you to your new quarters.”

They leave, Cas guiding him down a different set of halls than earlier. It’s a short walk before they reach another door, more intricately designed than his last one. Cas opens it for him, allowing him to step in first.

The room is painted in soft, cream colors. The bed is larger, with red sheets and a black canopy hanging overhead. As Dean moves further in, he notices an open door to his left. Inside is a bathroom – a better one than what he used previously. Instead of a sad toilet, he had a more pristine looking one rests near a claw foot tub. Dean sniffs at an armpit, conscious that he could use a shower.

“Well,” Cas asks from the doorway, “Is this better suited to your liking?”

“As far as jail cells go I feel like a white collar criminal,” Dean says, facing him again, “Hope this doesn’t put you out?”

“Nonsense, we are willing to go above and beyond to help you – seeing as you are our –“

“Our Savior, I know…” Dean bites his lip, glancing away from Cas.

The god of love notices this and steps closer, knocking more air out of the room and increasing the static charge exponentially. Dean feels shocks brush up against his skin as the room accommodates Cas’s entrance. “I must ask… your talk with the others, has it… helped?”

Dean sighs, unsure why he hoped Cas to talk about anything else. “I don’t think you’re crazy anymore so… sorta?” His joke barely gets off the ground, and he leaves it there. “You’re all hurting, I can see it plain as day. Even if I want to help, I… I don’t know how.”

“But do you want to?”

“…It’s not a complete no. I – I really don’t have _any_ reason to trust you.”

Cas snatches his wrist, Dean feeling like he’s tangled up in frayed wires. Stunned, he looks back into Cas’s eyes and finds passionate determination churning beneath the surface. “Then let me give you a reason to, Dean.”

He’s given Dean more than enough to _not_ trust him.

Oddly enough though, Dean agrees.

Cas smiles and thanks him before leaving. They share one last glance across the doorway; an unspoken feeling takes root in the silence. Then, with a nod, Cas shuts the door.

Dean spends his remaining hours before sleep tracing where Cas held his wrist.


	3. Aim

Dean sits on his bed, reading a book he found in one of the libraries, when the thought hits him that he doesn’t feel the need to leave. If he’s being honest, he hasn’t felt that urge since the first and only time he tried to escape. He shuts the book and shifts to lie on the bed, staring up at the inky canopy above.

It’s surprising how comfortable he’s gotten in the week that followed his first excursion past his previous room’s walls. Maybe Stockholm Syndrome finally set in, and Dean was as delusional as Rapunzel thinking Mother Gothel loved her. Or, more realistically, Dean realized he wasn’t as much as a prisoner as he believed.

He still couldn’t leave, but as the days dragged on Cas gave him reasons to not want to. After his first night in the Presidential suite, the fearless leader of Olympus’s resistance woke him early. Saying nothing, he held Dean’s phone out to him. Blinking away the sleep, Dean leapt out of bed to snatch it before Cas could hide it away again. Unfortunately, being underground, his phone had no service.

“Follow me,” Cas said, striding out of the room, “There’s one corner where you can find a bar or two.” Dean didn’t let him get far, shuffling along after Cas. Every new turn, Dean wondered how far he’d be led. Dean flirted with the idea of annoying Cas with questions, asking ‘are we there yet’; he fought against his instinct when he realized Cas could easily stop and take the phone back. He kept to himself until they stopped in front of a polished set of doors. “This is my office,” Cas told him, opening them for him, “I’m almost always here unless needed elsewhere. You can use your device over by the bust of my head – careful, though, Michelangelo can’t make another one.”

Cas gave no further explanation after shutting the door, leaving Dean alone in his sanctuary. The privacy was appreciated, even if he knew Cas would be there once he was done. Lucky for him Dean couldn’t comment on Cas giving the bare minimum of privacy as he marveled at this new space.

If he had woken up here instead of that first awful place, maybe Dean would have put more weight in Cas’s words. No matter where he looked, Dean found an artifact of the past that supported the other man’s claims of immortality. The first and largest being a portrait hanging behind a cluttered oak desk, Cas’s familiar profile embossed on the canvas in dark colors. His eyes were the only bright source of light, everything else blanketed in rich earth and gem tones like his emerald, puffy hat and onyx brooch affixed to his collar. Dean had no degree in art history, but after being dragged by Sam to museums every other weekend he felt comfortable guessing the painting existed long before his time.

Like he said, the portrait was one of many clues. Stone tablets in ancient texts, books with their yellowed pages bound weakly together, and large pottery pieces. And so many pictures, hung within various frames. Cas wore a cowboy hat glowering next to a horse. One of him in a three-piece tuxedo and slicked back hair surrounded by flappers all holding martini glasses. He chuckled at the photo of Cas under the Haight-Ashbury sign markers, decorated in a Nehru jacket and beads, holding a daisy, with his hair mussed and beard fully grown. Dean found his favorite between one of Cas and a woman both in loud patterned shirts and him nestled between the arms of two sailors on shore leave.

Cas smirked into the camera along with all the other members of Led Zeppelin. His shirt was torn along the collar, and his black leather jacket worn grey from use. It was easy to see how comfortable he was with the band. Robert Plant’s arm thrown casually over his neck. John Bonham leaned casually on Cas’s knee while Jimmy Page and John Paul Jones pretended to give Cas wings behind him. Dean traced his hand along its glass, resting it over the captured Cas’s chest. Seeing him amongst the greatest band of all time caused his heart to flutter.

As it did, he drew his hand back as if burned. He shook his head, remembering what he was there to do. Dean moved over to where Cas told him the signal would appear, giving the strange marble head of Cas a wide berth. He dialed up Sam’s number, glad to hear a familiar tone ringing in his ears. Sam picked up after the third ring.

Their conversation wasn’t too long or filled with anything besides meaningless small talk. When Sam asked how he was, if he’d done anything interesting, he nearly let slip the tremendous amount of crap he stepped in. But then he thought back to how he acted when Cas first told him what was going on, and how unbelievable it was. Sam, proved even more of a skeptic than he, and would barely listen to Dean’s ramblings without thinking it was all a joke. So instead he crafted a lie based on true events. How he met a cute guy and decided to follow him and a few friends to some cabin in the woods for a few days.

Sam sighed over the line, “Still as boy crazy as ever, huh?”

“Like you’re any better in the love department,” he said.

That was the wrong thing to say, as Sam immediately giggled; a response Dean learned to associate with the beginnings of his brother’s own misadventures in romance. When it came to matters of the heart, Sam fell almost as fiercely as Dean did. However, where Dean sank like a bowling ball, Sam’s heart was a basketball always bouncing back _immediately_ after the romance turned sour. It ended like that a lot for his brother, usually _after_ sex. Meanwhile Dean spent too much time having to pry his heart from the cement before he could move on again and repeat the process.

He babbled on about his new crush. Sam met her in Stanford library’s occult section, both reaching for a book on astral projection. Dean choked as he described her on the ‘mature’ side. “Sammy,” Dean hissed, “Tell me you’re _not_ going out with a _cougar_.”

“God, Dean, it’s not a bad thing,” Sam said, “Age doesn’t matter in a relationship between two mature adults.” He rolled his eyes, imagining his brother’s patented bitch face frowning at him from the other end of the line.

“Given your luck you two could be doing it and she’d have a heart attack.”

“My luck isn’t _that_ bad.”

“Agree to disagree,” Dean said, “Remember Madison? Amy? Toni… Jess… both Rubies; – Cassidy _and_ Cortese?”

“But this’ll be _different_ ,” Sam stressed, “I know it in my –“

“In my heart, yeah you said that the last time, too.” Dean glanced at the door, sighing. “Look, we’ll talk later okay?”

“Sure… don’t get into too much trouble. And good luck with the guy, he sounds like he could be the one.”

Dean fought back a blush, stuttering out a final goodbye. He waited for his heart to beat a normal rhythm before calling up his boss. The cover story was on the tip of his tongue, about feeling deathly sick. It didn’t matter, Alistair picking up to yell at him for missing his shifts before firing him and hanging up. His mind raced, anger and incredulity bouncing around at the past two minutes. It seemed too impossible, even more so than Greek gods walking the Earth. Dean gave years to Alistair, training under him and always taking shifts whenever he could. In the past month, he told Dean that in another year or so he could earn a promotion. How quickly that was ripped away from him?

He didn’t notice the doors opening again until Cas was in his line of sight, gently guiding him towards the floor. Dean’s breath shuddered, body shaking. “Dean,” Cas started, “what happened? You seem distressed?”

“Fired…”

“What was that? A fire?”

“No, asshole,” Dean shoved him away, snarling, “I got _fired_ from my job! All because of _you_!” Fury replaced the shock in his system, helping him to stand and advance on Cas. “Because you’ve kept me here for days and I couldn’t even explain – Christ, how am I going to pay for my apartment now? And Baby’s upkeep isn’t cheap, I’ll need –“ At the mention of his car, his eyes widen, “Shit, my _car_.” Remorse wracked his body for only remembering his beloved ride in that moment. “I left her in the parking lot! Of course Alistair fired me, because –“

“It’s not there.”

He stopped, glaring at Cas. The other man sheepishly stepped forward again, smiling. “You’re referring to your car, yes? It’s not there.”

Dean grit his teeth, seething. “What are you talking about?” God or not, Dean would use every dirty trick in his book if the man before him harmed his Baby. It was the best thing he had in his life besides Sam. The only piece of his dad he gave a damn about.

Cas ignored Dean’s powder keg-like mood and explained. “After knocking you out, I placed you in the passenger’s seat and drove us all the way back here. I used up much of my energy on the trip there, I couldn’t carry you back after. Thankfully I have much experience with driving… years to master the skill.”

His temper abated, Dean kept up his glare. Cas glanced at his phone, “Are you done with your calls?”

Sighing, he handed it over. “Yeah, I’m done.”

“Good,” he said, “If you need of it again, you may only ask.”

“Sure…” Pocketing his hands, Dean scanned the room once more. “So, what am I supposed to do now?”

“That depends. Are you willing to help us?”

“The jury’s still out.”

“Then our base is yours to explore.”

Dean stared at him, “Really?”

“Of course,” he said, leading him out from the study, “Maybe if you learned more about us, you’ll come to a decision sooner.” Cas turned on his heel, stalking away to some other area of the base. In that moment, Dean wanted to follow. But his emotions were scattered from his phone calls, and he was in no mood to investigate. Instead he walked back the way they came, finding his room thankfully easy.

Dean turns on his bed, the wound from that day now scabbed over. Face in his pillow, he reflects on the times he did take up Cas’s offer. He hates to admit how each time he left his room he came back to it knowing something else about the Olympians.

Like the fun he shared with the less godly members in this underground Bunker. He stumbled across the group on his quest to find a kitchen, all of them gathered around a table joking and laughing. It quieted when he entered. Dean chuckled awkwardly, “Don’t stop the fun on my account.”

A familiar tuft of red hair poked her way out from behind a large, bull-headed man. Charlie grinned and pranced over to him. “Dean! Glad to see you’re sticking with us!”

“You know I can’t really leave, right?”

“Well duh,” she said, “but you’re not trying to escape! So that’s a win – come on, I’ll introduce you to a few more of us.” Charlie dragged him over to the table, squeezing him between her and the minotaur he later found out was named Benny. Dean was afraid he’d confuse him with the other minotaur in the room, Cain, but discovered that fear was unfounded in reality. Where Benny spoke with an interesting drawl, always snickering and leaning over the table, Cain kept mostly to himself and grunted out one-or-two-word responses.

Besides them, there was also a centaur by the name of Jo who, as Charlie described, was as stubborn as a mule. Jo stomped her hooves at the remarks, whinnying in anger. “You take that back,” she warned, “Or I tell Dorothy about your wild partying days.”

“No!” Charlie exclaimed, “I only _just_ got comfortable enough to look her in the eye!”

“Eye?” Dean asked.

“Aye,” she nodded, winking at him, “ _Cyclops_.”

The last two of the group were a satyr and a nymph, named Kevin and Lisa respectively. Kevin was more demure than Charlie, hunched over and more invested in the book open before him. But he was told that looks were deceiving, as Kevin was an even fiercer partier than her after a sips of frothy ambrosia. Dean shrugged, taking her word for it. Kevin rolled his eyes at her antics, smirking slightly.

Lisa was very interested in him. She reminded Dean of a few of the women who would ignore the very clear signs he gave when he worked the bar. Like one drunken woman who, when Dean flashed her his rainbow pin, loudly scoffed and declared she could turn ‘any gay’. He doesn’t think Lisa would be that crude, but he’s also sure everything he’s saying wasn’t that funny. Although her hair was very pretty: long and dark and with lilies blooming along the strands.

“So,” Dean started, “what were you all talking about before I got here?”

“Reminiscing,” Benny said, “about the good ol’ days…” At Dean’s questioning brow, he explained further. They were trading stories, using words to bring to life warm days in the Elysium known as Olympus. Benny waxed poetic about a field he was particularly fond of, where he and his love Andrea would sit by a stream and enjoy a stew he spent hours preparing the night before. Dean didn’t ask what happened to Andrea, understanding the haunted look even in Benny’s bovine eyes. It was one shared by others at the table.

Cain had a sweetheart he lost by the name Colette, as forthcoming with this information about her as Benny was. Jo told them about her mom, Ellen, laughing after sharing with them one disastrous hunt where she shot an arrow into her shoulder. “The doe lunged at me,” she laughed, beer sloshing in her glass, “and I wasn’t that much older than a foal. My mom barely flinched at the wound. She pulled the arrow out and nocked it onto her own bow, using it to win the kill.” Sighing, she finished off her drink, “I sure do miss her… hell of a way to go out, though – fighting those bitch Fates and their armies.”

Dean frowned, “They have an army?”

“Of course,” Charlie said, “we don’t just spend our time here wasting away. A resistance wouldn’t be possible unless there was something to _resist_.”

“Who’s in it?”

“Standard demons, skeletons…” Kevin told him, “a… a few of our kind, who defected.”

“They’d do that?”

“Years of waiting can do that to you,” he shrugged, “Either we grew tired of waiting and accepted our fate… or turned against the gods who seemed to be no closer to breaking the curse than they were a century ago.”

Lisa sighed, wilting at Kevin’s words. She finally tore her eyes away from Dean, towards her fiddling hands. “My son Ben… he joined their side.”

“Wait – really?”

She nodded. “I don’t blame him… he was born years after the curse was in place. Didn’t understand why we fought for a home he had no memory of, wanted to live life on his own terms…” Lisa took the offered drink from Jo and sipped at it. “Some days even I start to forget the gorgeous ponds and grottos I lived in on Olympus.”

Charlie reached across the table and squeezed her hand. She turned to Dean, saying, “Fates offer us a way out. Promise us a chance to claim our own destiny if we rebel against the gods. Everyone says no the first time, wary to the Fates’ tricks… but it’s a waiting game. And they have all the time in the world…”

Dean’s heart went out to the group. He bit his lip to hide its tremble, and was grateful his eyes hadn’t leaked at any time. They continued talking for another hour, albeit with bittersweet notes. Dean left them then, grabbing blindly for a snack in the fridge while saying his goodbyes. The entire walk back to his room, he thought of the losses suffered by the citizens of Olympus. How unfair it was for them to suffer because of the gods’ folly. How cruel for the Fates to dangle retribution with no sure sign to uphold their end of the bargain.

The scales tipped slightly after that talk.

Another encounter comes to mind, when Dean interrupted a meeting between Cas’s family.

He ran into Charlie, asking if there was anything he could do for fun. Sleeping became tiresome after awhile, and Dean could only explore for so long. First she suggested sparring, an idea he turned down after spotting the twin sabers strapped to her back. With that out, the only other thing she could think of was reading. Charlie directed him to the library, warning him to knock first. If there was a knock back, that meant he had to wait for the gods to finish with their meeting.

Dean forgot. When he reached the library entrance – the bronzed scrolls hanging miraculously on either side, Dean strode in without thought. It was apparent he made a mistake when a handful of glowing eyes glared at his entrance. He didn’t have to glance at their feet to know he disturbed some of the gods.

“Uh…” Dean glanced between them, “hi?” The first two he recognized from earlier, Athena and Hephaestus. Their outfits hadn’t changed, although Hephaestus now wore a smock over his chest and his face was smeared in soot. Both gods dialed up the venom in their stares the longer he stayed rooted to the ground. The other two, however, softened after realizing who he was.

A brown-haired woman in a wool-lined, denim jacket and plaid shirt stepped forward, holding out her hand to shake. “You must be Dean Winchester,” greeted, grip firm and tight, “Sorry we didn’t get a chance to meet earlier, just got back with my scouting party. The name’s Artemis.”

“Artemis…”

“Y’know, goddess of the hunt?” She nodded over to a quiver laid out on a table, arrows pouring out of it.

“Right, right…”

The other woman stepped into view beside her, taking Dean’s hands after Artemis freed them. “And I’m Hestia, goddess of the hearth and home.” Her perky midwestern accent complemented Artemis’s cool and confident tone. Hestia’s honey blonde hair was tied in a high ponytail, and she also chose to wear plaid. “It’s such an honor, I’m sure you know how long we’ve been waiting for you to appear…”

“Yeah, I know.”

Hephaestus huffed, crossing his arms. “Do you know though, dear sisters, of our savior’s response to his destiny? He _balked_.”

Dean flinched at that; sure their expressions would harden like the others’. Artemis, however, scoffed. “Oh like we all aren’t trying to fight _Fate_ around here…” Hephaestus must have been surprised as Dean was, scowl deepening at Artemis’s flippant response.

“How can you say that?” Athena asked, stepping forward, “After all that we have suffered, the trials, the countless battles?”

“You’re heads always in a battle Athena,” Artemis said, “never in the moment. I’m sure Dean here was just surprised… did any of you take any time to explain the bigger picture?”

“I did.” Dean’s heart leapt into his throat, Cas standing right behind him.

“Jesus, Cas,” Dean cried without thought, “wear a bell why don’t you?”

Cas skewed his head to the side, squinting at him. He looked like he wanted to respond to Dean’s question, but thought against it. Instead he moved around him to address the others. “When Dean first woke up and at… later dates. Like Hephaestus said he _did_ decline, but… now he is considering.”

“Considering?” Hephaestus scoffed, “How is that any better?”

“It’s better than a no.”

They enter into a staring contest, neither backing down. Hephaestus gives in, ducking his head in annoyance. He shuffled over to a table with swords lined across the surface, grabbing one of them. Leaning on the edge, he dragged a stone across the blade’s sharp lines, the sound cutting through Dean.

“So, Dean, you’re considering helping us?” Hestia asked, snapping him from his daze. He nodded weakly. “What’s in your head? What made you change your stance?”

Dean wrung his hands together nervously, thinking over his words. “Well,” he started, “what’s really got me considering helping you is all the – uh… _others_? When Cas told me what was going on with your home I thought he was a fruitcake, but seeing all them…” His frown deepened, recalling the hopeful looks thrown at him like flowers in a passing parade and the sad expressions from the day before in the kitchen. “Hearing what they lost… I’ve always been a sucker for those in need.”

“What they lost?” Hephaestus said, “Do you not care for what _we_ lost?”

“I heard some of it from Hermes,” Dean answered back, glaring, “How many of you gods abandoned the cause to go live it up with the humans –“

“Would you call being locked in an insane asylum living it up?” Hephaestus yelled, leaping towards him, blade pointed at his heart, “Then our mother Hera has a glorious life! And pushing a grocery cart filled with useless trinkets is a prime task for a god like Apollo, muttering to himself all the damned day. Do you even know what happened to…” his voice cracked, “what happened to dear _Aphrodite_?”

All the gods turned away at her mention, save Cas. His fists balled at the side, and his jaw clenched so tightly Dean swore his bite could bend metal. Dean didn’t flinch at Hephaestus’s tone. “No,” he said, softly, “what happened?”

“They could change their form, y’know,” he said, “Aphrodite was a being of pure light. To understand them, the mind would piece together every attractive attribute to form a vessel for them to wear. I never saw them as anything more than light… _my_ light… but when the _curse_ hit – ” Cas flinched at Hephaestus’s harsh tone, “Aphrodite was trapped in one form. Barely as tall as my chest… blue eyes, brown hair that brushed their pale shoulders. Frantically they searched for a reflective surface. Stumbling across a lake, they took one _final_ look at themself and _screamed_. They couldn’t live like that, as _one_ thing in one body. Aphrodite couldn’t be trapped they were… they were _light_. Throwing themself into the lake, they became the first _true_ victim of the Fate’s machinations.”

“Shit,” Dean breathed out, “I… I’m sorry…”

“We’re all that’s left now,” Hephaestus finished, chuckling darkly, “ _Centuries_ pass and only twelve of us gods remain. The rest either scattered to the winds or _dead_ like my love.”

“That can’t be,” Dean shook his head, “It can’t be just twelve –“

“It is,” Hestia said, “Twelve that care enough to continue the fight. Anyone else with godly blood doesn’t give a damn about saving Olympus.”

Dean looked to her, squinting. “Godly blood? What does that mean?”

Athena answered him. “She’s talking about the demigods. _Our_ children.”

“You have _kids_?”

“Of course we do,” Artemis said, “Our father is _Zeus_. Although, _some_ of us were known to sow the fields every decade or so.” 

“Then… then why aren’t they fighting?” Dean asked, “Half a god is better than full god ain’t it? You have creatures waging war in your name with their children? Hell, they might end up _battling_ their kids because they switched sides!”

“Exactly,” Athena said, “Do you think just because we are their parents they would listen? That they’d fight for Olympus? Our children – whose powers would be diminished _further_ given the state of our home – would either not last long or rebel and fight _against_ us. It’s better for everyone they stay ignorant to our affairs.”

“We wouldn’t want to fight our kids, either,” Hestia said, “if they decided to turn. I had a girl a couple decades back by the name Alex… she deserved a normal life.”

Dean’s fight drained out of him. The gods, who seemed immutable and omnipotent, were as broken and flawed as the rest of them. Humanity shone through the cracks in their chassis.

Cas entered the discussion once more, a hand on Hephaestus’s shoulder. “I think that is enough for today,” he muttered, “We trust that your weapons are made of the best quality. Artemis, I’ll meet with you later to discuss what you’ve seen. Other than that… we’re adjourned.” The gods filed out, Hestia shutting the door behind her with a sad grin.

The god of love walked over to him, pushing past the boundaries of personal space. He looked into Dean’s eyes, and Dean held his stare. “You _still_ have many questions…”

Dean wets his lips. “Will you answer them this time?”

“I did say I wanted you to trust me, and would prove it to you. Answers are the best way to do that.”

He had better questions saved up in his arsenal, which would make more sense of his situation and help him come to a decision. Selfish jealousy won over though as he asked Cas, “Do you have any kids?”

Cas blinked at him. “Why would you…?”

Blushing, Dean scoffed and pushed away. “Just you seem so _uptight_ and junk for a love god… don’t know if you had it in you to father a few kids to rolling stone.”

He sighed, eyes flickering behind his lids, but didn’t tell Dean his question was too invasive. Instead, he answered. “Over time I did have a handful of children.”

His treacherous heart beat an unhappy melody, knowing Cas was a father. “Really? Any alive today?”

Cas smiled wistfully, pocketing his hands in his trench coat. “Two… Claire and Jack. They are young, Claire only starting high school a few months ago.”

“Oh.”

“ _Oh_?”

“I mean,” Dean floundered, “it sounds like you care about them and their… their _mother_?”

Cas chuckled, inching closer to Dean. “Mothers, they’re half-siblings as well as half-gods.”

“Really?”

“Yes, I met Claire’s mother at a religious fair in southern Illinois, and Jack’s while following a lead at the Smithsonian in D.C. Our relations were the product of disappointment from failed missions. They were… _distractions_.” He sighed, gaze darting around the room, “May I confess something to you, Dean?”

Dean shrugged, clearing his throat. “Sure, yeah – don’t have to, uh… it don’t matter.”

“For the god of love, I…” he faltered, voice wavering, “I don’t have much luck with it.”

“You don’t?”

“No…” he sighed, “Just another part of the curse…”

“What was that?”

He shook his head, receding like a wave. “Doesn’t matter. Were there anymore questions?”

Dean hoped to get some clear answers about his purpose in all of this. Listening to a bunch of gods whine about the futility of a situation really didn’t inspire confidence in him. And while he has heard the word ‘Custodial’ a bunch of times he hasn’t been any closer to figuring out what it meant. He figured that there might be some reading material stashed away that’ll give him a head start. Dean told Cas all of this.

“I believe I have something better than _books_.”

Again, Dean was stuck following Cas around the halls like a lost child. However this time, they stopped before a corner. “This is as far as I can go,” he said, “But there’s only one door past this point. They’ll help you better than any of us.”

“Okay?”

He took tentative steps towards the red door, its wood rough and thin. Dean could hear a slow rhythm beating away from the other side, and smoke drifted out from the space where door ended and floor began. Opening it, he felt like he walked into a dream, all soft curves and no rough lines. Shimmering curtains draped the walls, glowing from an unknown source of light. Their shine dimmed in the haze that hung all about, the sweet aroma drifting in from the humongous hookah pipe jutting out from the center of the room like a stalagmite. When his eyes adjusted, he realized he was not alone. Two other men sat on cushions, legs folded under each other.

Red-rimmed eyes turned their gaze towards him, the tip of their hoses dangling out the side of their mouths. It was hard to tell them apart, both men around a certain age, with beards and long, greasy hair. However one wore a trucker’s cap, an odd accessory to the sheer, white kaftan clinging to his body. He stood first, greeting him.

“You’re Dean, aren’t you?” he asked, “Mary’s son?”

Dean blinked at him. “You know Mary?”

“Of course,” he chuckled, stepping further, “She was one of us. You’re practically family, kid.” He pulled Dean into a tight hug, squeezing the nerves out of him. Dean let himself be trapped there, too stunned to hear the strange man call him ‘family’.

“Bobby, darling, let the poor boy go,” the other man drawled, his Scottish twang lilting like a melody, “Don’t want to establish yourself as the creepy uncle on the first meeting.”

“Hush up, Crowley,” Bobby said, doing as told, “It’s been years since I’ve seen another of our kind. Had to put up with your ugly mug for so long.”

“You managed to survive...” Crowley looked at Dean, then. “Well, are you going to sit? Our story is long and these pillows are down.” He breathes in a long drag, smoke puffing out from his nose. “Get comfortable.”

Dean, too confused to respond, followed Bobby back to where he sat. Instead of crossing his legs like before, Bobby lay on his side, stretching across three cushions. Bobby offered him a hose, but Dean declined. He sunk into the seat next to the older man’s head, preferring that then the open space next to his bare feet. Dean found his voice once more, frowning at them. “Are you telling me that I gotta lose my shoes, too?”

“What?” Bobby asked, following Dean’s gaze, “Oh, I mean… if you want.”

Now Dean said, “What?”

“We aren’t like those _true_ Olympians,” Crowley answered, “But we are more… _free-spirited_. Our culture as Custodials is steeped in _spirituality_ … the magic of _connection_ and _feelings_.”

“Of course,” Dean mumbled, slumping as best he could into the fancy beanbag, “I had to be descended from hippies…”

Crowley scoffed. “ _Please_ , they wish to be as enlightened as us…” At Dean’s stare, he continued. “Those flower children – and I emphasize _children_ – sought to reach an exponential understanding through any means necessary: meditation, drugs, _sex_ –“

“All great things,” Bobby said, “But they were never going to achieve our level of peace. A few were close: Dalai Lama, Tim Leary, Hendrix and Bea Arthur. Couldn’t totally empty themselves of their emotional tethers –“

“Wait,” Dean said, “I thought you said Custodials were all about _feelings_ and shit. Why would you want to not have any?”

“It’s not that we don’t want to,” Bobby told him, “It’s that we _can’t_. We’re called Custodials because we look after and manage the _idea_ of emotions.”

“The idea of?”

Crowley sighed, leaning closer to him as he explained. “Emotions aren’t some infinite resource. They exist in this wading pool called the ‘Collective Unconcious’. Totally unreachable place Carl Jung _wishes_ he fully understood. Filled with the instincts and themes that give life meaning, that allow all humans to _feel_. Even _we_ can’t go there – all we can do is shift the balance. Like,” he took another huff, blowing the smoke out from his mouth. However, halfway through, he holds a finger up and splits the stream into two. “that, changing where different emotions go. Making sure the emotional plane stays in balance.

“To do that, our bodies must be empty vessels, devoid of feeling,” Bobby said, smoke seeping out past his own lips.

Dean frowned at that. “So you don’t feel… _anything_?”

Bobby nodded. “Nothing. Feelings are a human concept, infectious like bacteria. Want to know _why_ all of ‘em lost so many since Olympus closed? Because they gave into emotions, like fear, doubt, hopelessness and anger. When they dipped too deep into those parts of the well, they _became_ human where it matters most.” He waves at his chest, “In here.”

That didn’t make him feel any better. Their blasé attitude was antithetic to Dean’s nature. “I don’t want to _not_ feel anything,” Dean told them, “I _like_ feeling things.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “No one was going to make you stop.”

“What?”

“We couldn’t even stop you if we wanted to,” Crowley continued, “You’re nothing _but_ feeling.”

“I am?”

“So many colors,” Bobby said, eyeing him strangely, “Hues of a rainbow…”

“Glad to see everyone knows I’m gay…”

“Like we bloody care,” Crowley said, “Do you want to know how many times _we_ have sex?”

Dean blanched. “No!”

“It’s fun,” Bobby tittered, “Sex is great. All those _sensations_... we're at our most powerful-”

“Can we please get back to how I’m _feeling_?”

“Pure feeling,” Bobby muttered, stroking a calloused hand down Dean’s arm, “Had to be for Mary to’ve had you with John.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Custodials and humans were never meant to mix. We manage the feelings, they experience them; the longer you spend amongst humans the crazier you become. Mary was always a rebel, disobeying old Elder Samuel and taking trips away from our hideaways to walk amongst the humans.”

“You hid yourself away?” Dean asked, voice rising in annoyance, “Even with Olympus closed? Why’d you do that? The key was one of you getting nasty with a human, and none of you figured to bite the bullet ‘cept her?”

“No Custodial has ever _felt_ something before Dean,” Crowley growled, “But we’ve seen what they do, know what they look like. We wouldn’t be able to do our job if we _felt_.”

“And it’s not like we had any obligation,” Bobby added, “No emotional tethers, no grand connection. Olympus wasn’t really a home as it was a… _place_. We don’t miss it like the others.”

“So why run with them?”

“Mary’s actions caught the attention of the Fates,” Crowley shrugged, “And she didn’t just take it out on her, but _all_ of us. Bobby and I barely escaped before they razed our people – _your_ people.”

Dean shuddered out a curse, “ _Shit_.”

“Indeed,” he said, “Now it’s just us. It’s a tiring job, requiring lots of concentration. Lord knows how much the emotional wellbeing of the world has slipped because of us _already_.” He didn’t know what scared him more: how the Fates managed to commit near genocide, or how Bobby and Crowley talked of it like the weather. A sheet of ice covered his chest in its frost.

Frowning, Dean asked, “They killed all of you because of… because of _me_?”

“Well, not _just_ you,” Bobby said, “You were a consequence of the _real_ problem.”

“And what was that?”

“Your mother _created_ emotion.”

Dean skewed his head to the side. “What do you mean?”

“She created a feeling,” Bobby repeated, voice rising frantically “That’s _never_ happened before! It’s against the laws of Fate – born from nothing! One day she was out and about with all the humans, then she meets your daddy and a match was struck.”

“…W-what?”

“And that’s what makes you special,” Bobby said, poking at his chest, “You were made from _pure_ love. A portion of that resides in you – allows you an all access pass to the wellspring of feeling and dip right into the source.” He gestured to his hose, “Like this. All this smoke is like the emotions that’re in _you_!”

“And that makes you a _threat_ to the Fates,” Crowley continued, “Because it means you’re more powerful than them. You have the ability to fly without being ensnared by their tricky threads…”

“So I can… _defy_ fate?” Dean asked, “That… that doesn’t make any sense? How can I defy fate when I’m part of some… damn prophecy?”

“Because even the Fates are subject to their own rules,” Bobby shrugged, “Doesn’t mean they don’t try and level the playing field in their favor. You were lucky enough to be one in a billion, Dean.”

“It seems like I’ve been anything _but_ lucky since finding all this out…”

“You’ll get used to it,” Crowley said, “Or you won’t – it doesn’t matter. You’ll be through the ring of fire soon enough.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m tired of answering questions,” Bobby announced, standing, “Crowley, do you know where we put the lube?”

“Check under the pillow by the record player, we did it there last because you said the vibrations helped compound your orgasm.”

“That sure was intense…”

Dean left them in haste, stumbling over himself before he saw more than he wanted to. His shameful walk back to his room was spent forcing the imagined visuals of the two Custodials engaged in intimate acts _far_ from his mind.

Those thoughts haunted him for the rest of the night, and reappeared tomorrow when, against his better judgment, he visited them again for some more explanations. He may not understand how his connection to feelings – to _love_ – would help defeat the bad guys. Dean watched enough anime to know the power of love could always defeat evil, but this was the real world.

What he managed to glean from the strange metaphors spoken between the two men as they traded smoke-laden kisses under furs was it all came back to magic. “Magic is only as strong as the intent and _feeling_ behind a spell,” Bobby said, “Since every human has a different capacity as to what they _can_ feel, there aren’t a great many of you who can do more than simple parlor tricks. _You_ can perform impossible feats, given the right training.”

Crowley hummed. “We don’t need you to do much, though. The only thing you’ll need to carry out is a simple location spell –“

“That’s why you need my _powerful_ magic?”

“To determine the location of an ever-shifting, heavily warded ancient artifact,” Crowley finished, glaring, “Stop being so brattish.” He sighed, threading his fingers through Bobby’s locks, “I can’t wait until you find the bloody key and fix that bloody angel’s mess.”

“Angel?” Dean asked, interest piqued, “You mean Cas? Eros?”

“Go away,” Crowley waved him off, “There’s been an earthquake in the city of Da Nang, Vietnam, and this grief needs direction.”

He didn’t get the chance to speak with them since then. Dean set about learning a little about magic on his own, finding a few books and locking himself away to read. The one he was finishing up, about the Dangers of Overstepping Magical Limits, although interesting invoked a great fear within him.

Crowley and Bobby believe he can perform an impossible task, as do the others stuck underground. Dean has done nothing in his life that could be described as ‘great’. He is more use to disappointing others than actually fulfilling a promise. Sam learned not to expect anything but hand-me-downs and thrifted goods for too many birthdays. Alistair fired him because he proved he wasn’t whom he thought. He’s afraid that when the time comes, he won’t hold up to all the talk. And what would that do to everyone? What would Cas would think of him?

“Stupid feelings,” Dean mutters, rubbing at his eye, “Thanks _mom_.” When the Custodials told him about his connection to _that_ damned emotion, he nearly wanted to laugh. Pieces shifted with this new bit of information, so the puzzle of his life finally made sense. Explained away every overreaction or unrealistic expectation as a side effect of genetics.

It hadn’t put his heart into perspective. His heart that obsessed about the god of love as if he was a viable romantic option even after all that happened between them. As if he didn’t prove to Dean day one where his attention laid.

Dean’s heart always wanted what it couldn’t have.

As he let himself think about the Olympian, he found more troubling feelings hiding behind the wall of love. Doubt and suspicion hung just out of reach, curious about the Olympian’s leader. In their interactions, he sensed Cas holding back. Keeping important details away from him, blurring the full picture.

Dean nearly has an answer to give Cas, but he needs one final thing before he makes it.

He rolls out of bed, tiptoeing out of the room. Taking slow and cautious steps, Dean follows the path he memorized towards Cas’s office. “You said you’d be in here,” he whispers, “Let’s hope I’m catching you during prime time.”

Dean comes upon the door and knocks. A beat passes and Cas shouts from inside, “Come in.” He enters, startling him. Cas drops his papers, standing to greet him. “This is a surprise…”

“Weren’t expecting me?”

“No, but…” Cas sighs, digging into his pockets, “if you need to use your phone I can give you some space, let me just –“

“No, no, I don’t – I’m not here for my phone,” Dean says, rushing over to him, “I’m here to… to talk.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Well then…” he gestures to the seat across from him, “by all means.”

“Thanks, Cas…” Dean sits, hands tapping out a rhythm on his knees. He’s weirdly nervous about being alone with the other man, for reasons he wished he didn’t understand. What didn’t help was how they’re set up, with Cas stationed behind a desk in a suit, reminded Dean of many a fantasy being called into the principal's office. He glances up to find Cas staring at him, a smile twitching at his lips. “What?”

“Sorry, I…” he chuckles, “You call me Cas, even after I’ve told you my real name. Why?”

Dean shrugs. “To me, Cas _is_ your real name… But I know you’ve had others before it.”

“Yes, well…” he looks about the room, “When you live as long as I do you need to differentiate your identities otherwise people get suspicious.”

“ _People_ , yeah…”

“Your curiosity knows no bounds,” Cas states, folding his hands under his chin, “what _else_ do you want to know.”

Blushing under the intensity of his stare, Dean falters. He searches for a lifeline, finding it in one of the pictures from earlier. Dean points to it, asking, “You knew Zepp?”

Cas follows the line of his finger, eyes crinkling at the edges when he finds it. “Yes,” he says, “They were of invaluable help.”

“So they knew you were a god?”

“Not by choice,” Cas admit, “Me and Hermes were investigating rumors about a statue that we remembered being from the halls of Olympus. Figured that if it was the real deal, maybe someone had found a way around the spell or during our eviction it fell through the cracks and could remind us what we were fighting for. It was in storage at a theater they were playing at… convinced them we were an up-and-coming band called Love God – Hermes’s idea, not mine. It didn’t take much of our powers to get backstage passes… unfortunately the statue was not what we had hoped, and the Fate’s armies were waiting for us. I saved Robert’s life.”

“Holy shit,” Dean sighs, “you saved _music_.”

“I take it you’re fond of them?”

“They’re only my _favorite_ band ever! What were they like?”

“Very nice and completely understanding… they didn’t freak out after the whole _light_ show. Actually found our story kind of inspiring,” Cas says, “When we ran into them again, when this picture was taken, they thanked me for a number one hit. I’m sure you’ve heard of _Stairway to Heaven_?”

“Holy shit, Cas that’s… that’s incredible…” Dean bites his lip, “I’m sure you’ve got tons of memories like that, though.”

Cas shrugs. “One of the upsides to a long life… I have had the time to meet and befriend many people. What’s awful is that while I remain unchanged, they wither away and die…” His mouth fell into a serious line.

Dean’s hand twitches, and he squeezes his knee to make it stay. He focuses on the sadness radiating from Cas, and frowns as well. “I don’t get it.”

“What don’t you get?”

“The gods… the creatures… all this time spent on Earth and most of ‘em gave into life but…” Dean gestures around them, “You have had maybe hundreds of lives but you’re still here. You could’ve gave in? Hell, being the god of love you could have settled down and found someone nice? What I’m… what I’m trying to ask is why’re you here? Why do what you do…”

Dean hit a nerve, recognizing the expression of a man whose patience was tugged over a line. “Because it is my home,” he starts, voice a low growl, “Because the Fates had no right sending _everyone_ out in punishment for…” Cas fades like an old stereo.

He hates that. “For what, Cas?”

“No, you know why –“

“I don’t,” Dean stands, leaning on the desk, putting his face directly across from Cas’s, inches away. “There’s something I’m not being told. And if you want my help than I need to know _everything_.” Then, quieter, he says, “Please, you said you’d give me _anything_. How am I supposed to _trust_ you?”

Cas pulls away, blue eyes churning like the sea in the midst of a storm. He collapses in on himself, sighing. “Fine… if it’s the truth you want, then it’s the truth you’ll have. _My_ truth.”

Dean retakes his seat, finally allowing himself to touch Cas’s hand. “Thank you.”

The god of love stares at their hands, unwilling to meet Dean’s stare as he begins his tale. “When I said the Fates cursed us for being prideful… thinking ourselves _above_ their silly games, I wasn’t being completely honest. The Fates never cursed us _gods_ … just _one_. _Me._ ”

His breath hitches, and Dean’s eyes widen as he processes Cas words. Cas doesn’t wait for him to speak, continuing in a harsh whisper. “I was in love once before, to a woman named Psyche. When I met her I literally fell from the heavens, too dazed by her beauty. At first I thought she was my mother, dear Aphrodite, before remembering her obligations for the day. It was like an arrow fell from my quiver and pierced my heart, I was so taken by her… stealing away whenever I could to watch her. And then one day she caught me outside the window of her house, and became as smitten as I.”

Dean frowns, heart breaking at the direction Cas’s story went. When he asked, he hadn’t expected the god of love to confess to loving another person. Somebody who _isn’t_ Dean. His fragile heart, that had only recently repaired itself from Cas’s earlier actions, quivers as if ready to shatter all over again. “What happened?” he forces himself to ask.

“Our love was paradise… until it wasn’t,” Cas says, “She wanted us to get married and start a family… I told her it was against the laws of the Fates for me to do so as long as I remained connected to Olympus. Psyche was beside herself – she didn’t want to live without me, and she didn’t want me without my powers. Our meetings were soon filled with nothing but hushed arguments as to why the Fates’ rules shouldn’t apply to me. Because, as a god, my power must greatly outshine theirs? Her flattery emboldened my spirit tenfold, and I got drunk off it like the sweetest ambrosia.”

“Until one day I decided to confront the Fates; to rage against them for their belief of superiority to gods. Boasted of my own power and skill – that the might of Olympus was better than them. How they have no power over our affairs.”

“They didn’t agree with you?” Dean asks.

“A gross understatement,” Cas mutters, “In my ravings, I hadn’t notice them begin circling me. They repeated my claims back at me, mocking me. Then, questioning my strength, they came for my wings –“ he stifles a sob, glancing at his back, “I had gorgeous wings that could fill this room twofold. Now all that’s left are shadows of their former glory. But that wasn’t enough… for my insolence, they decided to prove that Olympus could not escape their web, and threw us into the wilds of humanity where fate ran a dominion.”

“So the curse… the suffering,” Dean says, “All of it was because… because of –“

“Of _me_.” Cas meets his gaze, a fiery light glowing within his eyes. “That is why I stand by my family, my citizens, even when every opportunity presents itself for me to fall one last time. Nothing will keep me from making up for my past mistakes.”

Then Dean, again selfishly, asks Cas about Psyche. Cas shrugs, voice devoid of any emotion, “The Fates were very thorough. They wove her a new tapestry, one where I was not a part of her life. And that… was how the god of love was no more. I was reborn a man who knew love was an empty joke played by the cruel Fates. It doesn’t exist –“

“Now hold on, Cas,” Dean says, squeezing his hand, “Love exists.”

“Does it?” he huffs, “I know it lives apart from us, but we truly don’t understand it. We can’t control it. Love is not ours to give freely.”

“Yeah, well maybe not everyone but it’s mine,” Dean says, standing. Cas’s defeatist tone stoked at the embers of Dean’s frustration, igniting him towards action. He rounds the desk, kneeling beside Cas, leaning on his knees; their hands held tight together. “The only reason I’m here is because of love. Love is what’s going to save your people, will save _you_.”

“Not love, Dean – it’s _you_. You are not love.”

“We’re a package deal, Cas.”

“You speak as if you’re the god of love?”

“Well from what I’m seeing you’re not being much of one right now.”

“And you know all there is about love?”

“Unfortunately I do,” Dean growls, “You say you don’t love, but that’s a lie. You still do, _too much_. You don’t stay because of obligation; you stay because you love your family. You love all the people you’ve met, the children you have. You love your home. There is room in your heart to love. Fuck the Fates, fuck the curse – you _will_ love again.”

“How do you _know_ , Dean?” His gaze shines like a lighthouse, imploring Dean to tread the waters safely as he tries to dock. Dean knows there are no words that can convince Cas, so he falls back on instinct.

Dean launches himself forward and kisses Cas. He feels Cas tense under him, even as he threads their fingers together with one hand and uses his other to tug at Cas’s hair. When it happens, though, the shift is instantaneous. Cas matches his passion, snaking an arm around his waist and tugging him closer. Dean shifts with him, trying to find a good angle to continue kissing. Unfortunately the rolling chair is not conducive to making out. He pulls back, “Cas… can’t – the… the chair –“

Cas continues embracing him, lifting Dean without problem and dropping him onto the desk. Then he rolls his crotch against Dean’s, slotting perfectly against him. Rutting like a man with nothing left to lose. “Dean,” he sighs, trailing kisses across his neck, “Dean – are you…”

“I kissed you, remember,” Dean keens, nails scraping against Cas’s scalp, “I’ve wanted to… to do that since the moment we met.”

“Even after we… after _I_?”

Dean drags Cas’s head back up, pinching his cheeks. He makes sure Cas can see the pure honesty expressed across his features. “I tried fighting it, but I can’t deny it anymore Cas. Looking at you makes me want to do so much… drives me crazy when I can’t touch –“

“Then please,” he cuts him off, “let me make you sane.” Cas dives back in for another kiss, Dean’s eyes fluttering shut. A tongue slips past his lips, Dean eagerly accepting it into his mouth. Hands roam everywhere, fiddling with buttons and pressing against exposed skin. At some point, Dean’s shirt was rucked up and exposing his nipples. Cas, having moved slowly down, stopped to lave attention at the sensitive area.

Dean’s back arches in pleasure at Cas’s thorough attention to his body. He tries pushing Cas’s head down, only to catch the god of love with his teeth on the sensitive nub. His moan echoes in the enclosed space. “Cas…”

“I like when you call me that,” Cas confesses, kissing his way down Dean’s stomach, “I didn’t intend to get so attached to the name. On my way in I passed a group of women, one of the girl’s names was Cassie and I – I decided to use that.”

“So glad you did,” Dean hums, hissing as Cas exposes his flushed cock to the cool air, “Love the way it sounds.”

“As do I.” Cas quiets, then, encasing Dean’s dick with his warm mouth, fully sheathing his shaft. Dean’s jaw drops, tongue pressing against the top row of his teeth; eyes roll back into his head as Cas sucks at his dick like the power to defeat the Fates was trapped within his balls.

He leans back on the desk, hips stuttering, and dick inching in and out of Cas’s lips. Cas takes a hand and squeezes Dean’s balls, prompting a curse out of him. Dean can feel his orgasm dawdling at the edge, needing one last push before it falls into completion.

Cas mutters something, the vibrations shooting through him and dragging the ejaculate out. Dean cries, his vision blacking out.

It’s as if he jumped from Cas’s study to a strange new room. It’s dark, cold, and damp – Dean imagines he’s sitting on a rocky surface instead of a paper-strewn desk. His eyes adjust to the dim light, the fuchsia glow not as painful to him the longer he basks in it. In the center of the room, there’s a stone pedestal, and within the glow a strange object. Dean squints, trying to see what the light hides.

But as he finishes his orgasm, he finds himself back in Cas’s study. There’s no mess, Cas having swallowed it all. Dean hunches over, exhausted, painting against the back of Cas’s skull. Cas stills, face buried in his crotch.

“I… I…”

Cas turns slightly, cheek pressed against his wilting dick. “What is it Dean?”

He swallows back the vision, storing it away for later. Instead, he tells Cas what he wants to hear; what he decided in the second between not kissing and kissing the god of love.

“I’m going to help.”


	4. Release

Dean doesn’t know why he waited so long to use the bathtub. Soaking in its warm, bubbly waters melts away any of the troubles that worried him. He hadn’t had a bath in years, his last one given to him when his mom was alive. At first he wasn’t sure he’d fit within the porcelain space, until he stepped one foot in and sank under the soapy depths. Now, his shoulders and knees flirt with the warm water. Dean relaxes his neck against the edge, releasing a deep breath out his nose.

Raising his hand slowly, Dean watches the water sluice off his arm and back into the tub. As an adult, he knows bathing isn’t the best way to get clean. He hadn’t even thought about hygiene in the time he’s been here. Granted his smell was masked by the musk of others. Still, he wanted to present a cleaner version of himself for Cas when he swings by.

Especially if they’ll be doing what he’s preparing himself for.

His head lolls to the side when he thinks about the last time he and Cas were intimate with one another. The bright flashes of light, the vision, the cave… he’d heard of orgasms so good they messed with your senses, but never like that. In the back of his mind, Dean knew there was more to what he saw. That it had less to do with how amazing Cas’s mouth was and more closely linked to his heritage. Before telling Cas, however, he decided to address it with the two stoners who knew all about his ‘powers’.

Dean was lucky to find Bobby and Crowley not attached at the hip. A hypnotic tune sounded from the record player, a heavy drumbeat followed by a melodic string instrument. Bobby swayed his hips, swinging his arms back and forth in a trance. Crowley watched him, the hose resting against his lips. He cleared his throat, dragging their attention to him. “Am I… _interrupting_?”

“No,” Bobby said, dancing without pause, “you can join if you want to.”

Rolling his eyes, Dean stomped his way over to the record player and pulled the needle from the disc. Bobby froze, arms dropping as if Dean cut the strings above him. “Not cool,” he muttered, sinking down into a cushion and picking up his discarded hose.

“So,” Crowley said, raising a brow at Dean, “is there a reason you barged into our sanctuary?”

“Is the _fate_ of _Olympus_ an urgent enough reason?”

“We’re not the ones working on a timetable,” Crowley shrugged.

Dean growled, “Can you at least _pretend_ to care for half-a-second?”

The arch of Crowley’s brow sharpened. “I wouldn’t know where to start.” He sighed, smoke escaping his lips. “Instead of squabbling with me, why don’t you cut to the point as to why you’re here?”

He sucked in a breath, as if to continue the fight, but let it go in the next second. Dean shuffled over towards the pillows and collapsed onto them. Then, he told them about his vision. Bobby and Crowley listened in bored fascination, especially as he described the actions that _spurred_ the strange sight. He’s been to the doctor before, and knew that for them to identify what’s wrong they need _all_ the information.

When he finished, he looked between the two wondering who would speak first.

Bobby did. “Weird,” he said, tapping the hose against his chin, “I didn’t think it was possible for you to do that without the ingredients…”

“Do what?”

“Perform the location spell,” Crowley scoffed, “remember? The one we told you about?”

Dean’s eyes widened, “You mean that glow was the _key_?”

“Seems like it,” Bobby said, “You performed _magic_ , boy!”

“How?” Dean asked, “I didn’t… it was just _sex_!”

“Exactly!” Bobby crowed, leaping to his feet, “Sex _is_ magic. Sex is a tidal wave of emotions, being poured into a bullet to be fired out into the ether. The release ain’t just physical but _spiritual_ , and you can channel that energy and perform a wide variety of spells with it!”

He blinked at the other Custodial. “You’re telling me my powers are _sex magic_?” Dean chuckled manically, his grip on his knees as tenuous as the one on reality. “No… that just – _no_.”

“But Dean –“

“No,” Dean stood, shaking his head, “I’ve been forced to accept a _lot_ of things, but the idea that my cum is some kind of magical elixir that’ll cure all your problems –“

“Well it wouldn’t be like that,” Crowley muttered.

“Is my _breaking point_! I’ll do the spell but I’m not… I’m not…”

Bobby hummed. “You need a demonstration,” he said. Four words that struck fear within Dean’s heart. Especially when he noticed Bobby tugging up his kaftan, getting a glimpse of pale thighs. Dean spun on his heel, blushing.

“No,” he muttered, “I – I’m not going to watch you have _sex_.”

“Why not?” Crowley asked, “We do it very tastefully!”

“Well, I won’t because…” Dean racked his brain for a reason, thankfully plucking one from his memories. “Because it won’t work for you! You said it yourself – magic requires emotion, and you two can’t access that!”

“You’re right,” Bobby said, “But luckily we don’t need to access them, just control where they go. Having sex tricks the unconscious into thinking we ‘feel’, letting us do our magic! Like I told you before it’s when we’re at our most powerful!”

Dean scowled, fists tightening at his sides. “Whatever, I’m still not gonna watch.”

“Fine,” Crowley said, “Let Olympus crumble, see if we care.”

He nearly turned, but caught himself at the last second. “What are you talking about?”

“Didn’t _Cas_ tell you?” Crowley mocked him, “It’s part of the prophecy. Once the child born of Custodial and human blood comes of age on their 25th cycle, their power will bloom. However if the weapon is not found and the curse not broken by the next full moon, then Olympus will sink into oblivion.” He tut obnoxiously. “Now while this Bunker has no windows, I can assure you that event is days away.”

Dean froze, thoughts short-circuiting. He hadn’t realized Cas and the others’ homes were in _that_ much danger. From how the others acted, Dean would have no idea. Remembering the confession on Cas’s part about the true target of the curse, he made the connection that the others might not know about this as well.

“Sometimes a leader has to keep secrets,” Cas said, “A secret could make or break morale.”

It didn’t explain though why he kept _that_ from Dean. Wondering why Cas didn’t tell him about that part of the prophecy, he reminded himself of how Cas acted when he said no. Cas didn’t want to force him into helping; he hoped Dean would make the choice himself. Not from some resigned obligation but from a true place of desire. And as he held out and waited for that want to flicker within, the doomsday clock ticked ever closer.

“Why should I trust you?” Dean said, voice wavering, “You could be saying this to fuck with me.”

“That makes no sense,” Crowley told him, “you know we can’t feel. What _pleasure_ can we derive from watching you squirm? At this point you could stay or go, I’m getting naked and we’re going to have sex.”

Cursing quietly, Dean turned around. He knew he would watch before Crowley’s assurance, conscious to the fact that so many lives hung in the balance. Slowly, Dean faced them again.

Crowley had already removed his coverings, stretched out across a pillow tweaking his nipple with one hand and stroking his slick dick with the other. Bobby continued to tease his hem, and now with Dean watching he hiked it up to reveal a thick cock nestled in ginger bramble. “Don’t worry,” Bobby said, reaching behind him, “It’s going to be _awesome_.” He pulled out a golden object with a wide depth that smoothed into a dull point at the head; a few seconds later Dean blushed, recognizing it as a butt plug. By then Bobby had already discarded his layer of clothing.

Dean wasn’t the kind of gay who scoured dating apps, searching for buff bods to jack it to. He recognized beauty in all shapes and sizes. And both men were handsome in their own ways. Crowley had a wiry body, dark hairy chest and a happy trail that curled around his dick. His gazes were intense, even with the lack of emotion in them, and it drew him into the scene. Bobby was curves, with a gut that hung over thin legs and a dusting of blonde hairs that spiraled around a belly button. Bobby positioned himself over Crowley, lining up his hole with the other Custodial’s waiting dick, and sunk onto it _slowly_.

Dean shifted where he stood, watching it with a weird half boner in his pants. As if sensing it, Crowley snapped his eyes open and smirked at Dean. He scowled, sitting across from them on a pillow and crossing his legs to hide his chub.

“Watch closely,” Crowley instructed as Bobby pumped himself up and down Crowley’s dick, “the air around us will start to shimmer… that’ll be the emotions we’re drawing from outside sources waiting for our direction.” Then, he knocked Bobby’s cap off his head, running his hands through his long hair and tugging at the ends. Bobby hissed, moving to an atypical rhythm in his humping.

Dean’s jaw slackened when he finally tore his gaze away from Bobby’s ass to find them surrounded in a hue of colors. “Emotions…” Dean whispered, in awe by the amount surrounding them – almost like a halo.

Bobby increased his pace, panting loudly. “All right,” he said, breath hitching, “don’t be alarmed now. What – what you’ll be seeing… it’s not real.” Then, he spoke in a guttural voice, chanting in a language Dean recognized but didn’t know. The colors started pulsating, spinning around and clashing together. In one burst of white light, they blinded him.

He blinked back into awareness, dizzy from the lightshow. When he leaned back, his hands met soft grass: an uncommon sensation for the solid and dark room. His bearings returning much faster after that, Dean realized they were no longer in the room.

Instead they were in a verdant meadow, a stream cutting between him and the spunk covered bodies wrapped in each other’s arms. Dean leapt to his feet, spinning. Hills rose up in three different directions, the view behind him flat save for the white buildings that rose in the distance. “Where are we?”

“We’re still in our room,” Bobby said.

“Bullshit, this ain’t your room.”

“Didn’t you listen?” Crowley huffed, “Bobby said what you’ll see _isn’t_ real. _None_ of this is _real_. It’s an _illusion_.”

He turned back to them. Walking closer, he dipped his hand into the stream. While he felt water rushing through his fingers, they came back dry. “Okay,” he said, “so this is an illusion… of what?”

“Of the Elysian Fields.”

“Isn’t that a café?”

“No you idjit,” Bobby sighed, “these Fields are a monument to the great heroes of old, their spirits allowed to rest in peace within view of the gods they honored.”

“You captured its likeness well, Bobby,” Crowley said, brushing a stray strand behind his ear, “You even included the rock where you and I had sex…”

“Hold on, in view of the gods…” Dean glanced back at the buildings, “You’re saying that’s Olympus?”

“Yes,” Bobby said, “What you’re trying to save, prophecy kid.”

He squinted at it, trying to get a better look. Unfortunately, the image started fading, and once more they were back in the familiar, smoke-filled room.

Dean sighs, his hand playing with his own dick at the memory. In the privacy of his room, he can admit how much he enjoyed watching them have sex. Like a piece of performance art mixed with porn.

“They sure are strange,” Dean wondered aloud, “I can’t believe they’re my family.”

That’s another thing Dean tries not thinking of, especially with such a tight grip on his dick. Growing up, he was curious about his mother’s side of the family tree. No one showed up to visit, to mourn her besides their small family. He imagined Mary had lost her parents young, too, and like him had to navigate life without them. Never did the possibility cross his mind that his mother was part of a race of beings who were unable to feel. In his memories she was filled with so much light and love. “Her own love,” Dean reminded himself, “that she created… that’s in _me_.”

Dick limp, Dean pulls himself from the tub and reaches for a towel to dry off.

He tugs the clog out of the drain and watches the water swirl down until only drops cling to the porcelain edges. Dean moves over towards the sink, wrapping the towel tight around his waist, reaching for the bowl he left there.

The spell required more than sex, as he found out. In the years they’ve waited for Dean to arrive, the Olympians went about gathering ingredients for it. Dean has them spread out around the bathroom like he was about to put on makeup. For kicks, he grabs the stone pestle and flashes it towards the mirror like the beauty gurus he watched.

Dean drops a few berries into the bowl and begins squishing them into a fine paste. Athena explained to him the history of each ingredient, and their importance. The berries were grown from ambrosia on holy grounds, imbued with the magic of Olympus. After, Dean adds in a chopped up apple from the orchard of Atlas and a fluff of fleece they sheared off a golden ram. The paste looks unappetizing. There’s not many more ingredients left to add. Black ash collected from a volcano. A vial of water sourced from the lake of Mnemosyne, the pool of memories. Setting the mixture down, Dean holds up the next ingredient.

A string torn from the loom of the Fates. Athena described the hard fought battle for nearly an hour when she showed him this, recounting the many losses suffered on both sides. How Poseidon, with his last breath, swept a massive tidal wave into the caverns that distracted the Fates long enough to allow Cas time to snatch it. He wanted to scoff, the depth and ferocity of that battle too large for them to only find victory in this loose thread. But Dean noticed the sadness behind her eyes, and bit his tongue. He adds it to the concoction and grinds it all into a thick paste.

Setting the bowl back on the counter once more, Dean reaches for a nearby dagger. “You’ll need your blood as a binding agent,” Athena said, gesturing with the same dagger he held in his hands now, “Cut quick and clean across your palm, and let it drip into the bowl.”

He readies it across his skin, the cold metal resting diagonally, tip pricking into him. Dean bites his lip, steeling himself before cutting. “I can do this… I can do this…” The door opens from behind and startles him, blade slicing through his skin before he was ready. “Shit!” he yells, dropping his dagger into the sink. Dean holds his wound over the bowl, letting the blood seep into the mixture. Glancing behind him, he finds Cas watching him with a curious bent to his brow.

“The spell?” Cas whispers, “You’re doing…”

“Yeah I’m doing your fricken spell,” Dean says, hissing as his wound stings when he squeezes. “Christ, remind me never to bitch about donating blood again…”

He stares at the jagged line marring his palm. The blood stopped flowing, painting his hand a dark red. Cas steps closer to him. He reaches for Dean’s hand, holding it in his own. Swiping a glowing finger up the line, Dean grunts as the skin stitches together again. When finished, there isn’t even a scar left. “Whoa…”

“That is a fine job you’ve done with the spell,” Cas says, inspecting his bowl, “is that why you called me here?”

Dean shrugs, “Somewhat?” He grabs his dagger and holds it out to Cas, “I need you for the spell.”

“You do?” Cas asks, “But it doesn’t say anything about me –“

“Not outright,” Dean tells him, “It’s _inferred_. The part where it says you needed something of the curse casters –“

“We got the string –“

“Yes, and that’s the Fates taken care of,” Dean says, “But I was thinking about how you all talk about them and I don’t think it’d be that easy? From what you’ve said they really like _twisting_ the letter of the law however they pleased…” Tapping the tip of his knife against Cas’s palm, “And from your story… the Fates may have cast the curse but _you_ were what they targeted.”

Cas’s mouth thins. “I see.” Wrapping his fingers around Dean’s wrist, he presses the blade closer to his skin. “Do it.”

Dean cuts a much shallower line in Cas, never breaking eye contact with him. Cas does the same, even as he adds his blood to the mixture. “There,” he says, “it’s done.”

He nods. “Good,” Dean says, “now… get naked.”

“What –“

“The spell, I need to…” Dean clears his throat awkwardly, “for it to work I need to _engage_ in… skin-on-skin contact?”

“… _Sex_?”

“God, yes,” Dean wipes his hand down his face, “ _That_. Bobby and Crowley told me that my magic focuses through sex and the only way I’ll be able to drop a pin on your key is by doing it. I already caught a glimpse of it –“

“You did?”

“Yes, when we were…” Dean whines, “As I was _climaxing_ in your mouth.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“ _I_ didn’t know what I was seeing!” Dean cries, packing backwards, “I didn’t even understand how I got there. But now I do and this was _so_ not how I wanted our first night together to go but if we’re to keep Olympus from crumbling you’re going to have to put your penis in my hole and slam my prostate until I see that glowy purplish light okay?”

He heaves a bucketful of air back into his chest, gasping as anxiety drains out of him. Dean hadn’t planned on saying all of that in one go, but a domino tipped and all the information crumbled out of him.

Cas, wide-eyed, trembles. He whispers, “You… you know about Olympus…?”

Dean sighs. “Yeah, they told me _that_ as well…” He moves back over to him, grabbing his hands, “Listen, I _want_ to save your home. I also want to do this with you, but I’ll understand if you feel it’s a bit… _invasive_ –“

“No.”

“What?”

“No, I…” Cas draws out a shaky breath, “I want to do this, too – with you. Spell or no spell, this isn’t something I’d be totally against.”

“…For real?”

“You have a captivating soul, Dean Winchester.”

Dean blushes. “I bet you say that to all the prophesized saviors…”

“I have met a few in my lifetime,” Cas admits, “But none as striking as you.” He drags Dean’s hands up and dusts his knuckles with a kiss. “What will you have me do?”

He shivers, the strange look in Cas’s eyes making his knees weak. “Undress, and wait on the bed. Maybe coat your fingers with the lube that’s there? I need to… to prep as well.”

Cas shuts the door behind him, clearing the way for Dean’s thoughts to return. He sags against the counter, limbs as fine a jelly as what’s in the bowl. Turning towards the mirror, Dean gazes at his reflection. Notices how the green of his eyes is eclipsed by the ever-expanding darkness of his pupils.

He giggles unexpectedly, clamping his hand over his mouth after the first few notes. “Who knew being a hero would be this much fun?” Shaking away the giddiness, Dean sets to work.

Dean scoops the paste with two fingers as if he was back at home using his gel. Instead of spreading it on his hair, however, he drags it down from his forehead to the tip of his nose. Then, with the excess draws two short arcs on both his cheeks and dots at his chin.

Getting more of the paste on his hands, Dean spreads it on his chest and arms in the intricate patterns Bobby explained. He takes the remainder of the mixture and rubs it over his dick, then slaps his ass. It’s tricky, but he cranes his neck around to find two handprints on his cheeks. “Perfect.”

Opening the door proves more difficult since he has to use his wrists. But he does it, and steps out; the warm air blankets his naked body.

Cas waits for him on his bed, clothing scattered on the floor around them. Dean rakes his eyes over his body, etching every inch of his tanned skin into his memory. The trench coat did him no favors, biceps large and thighs thick. He looks as every bit as solid as Dean imagined. And his cock, uncut and curved slightly, makes Dean’s mouth water.

“Well?” Cas asks, “Are you going to stand there?”

“A few more seconds…”

Cas chuckles and beckons Dean closer with a crooked finger. He saunters over, hips swaying and smiling devilishly. He stops at the edge of the bed, gazing down at Cas who now lies on his back. Dean places his hands against Cas’s pecs as he tosses a leg over him. His knees rest at his sides, ass pressed against Cas’s stomach. Dragging his hands down Cas, he marks a muddy path.

“Was that part of the spell as well?” Cas asks, voice thick with anticipation.

Dean smirks. “It could be… we’ll just have to see.”

Cas’s fingers dance at Dean’s sides, trailing their way down and towards Dean’s hole. He lifts him, spreading the cheeks and teasing the hole. Dean bites back a gasp as a dry finger taps at his entrance.

“Lube, Cas,” Dean growls, “I’ve already put enough blood into this spell don’t want to add anymore…”

“Right, right, sorry…” He rubs the paste deeper into Cas’s skin as Cas reaches over for the bottle of lube on the nearby nightstand. Cas pumps the nozzle twice, squirting a healthy amount into his palm. Rubbing it onto his fingers, Cas returns to Dean’s hole and reapplies pressure to it, the lube sending a healthy shiver up his spine.

“That’s it… _oooh_.” Cas slips a finger into him, teasing out his hole. Dean grips his shoulders, digging into them. Even as the seconds tick ever closer to the full moon, Cas takes his time stretching him out. That first finger goes agonizingly slow, to the point where Dean started humping the finger in desperation. “Please, Cas,” he keens, “Another… add another…”

“You want another?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure you can handle –“

“If you don’t put your second finger up my asshole I’ll – _nngghhaah!_ ” The second joins the first so smoothly Dean nearly loses balance. He catches himself, panting as the two fingers move in and out of him. Cas starts up a rhythm, Dean rocking into it on every third beat. Dean opens his eyes, staring down at Cas who looks up at him with wonder trapped in his gaze. Like he was lying on a bed of grass and staring up at the sun on a clear day, except the sun was Dean. He blushes, “What? Curious about the patterns I drew?”

“No,” Cas tells him, “I’m counting your _freckles_.”

“You can see them under all this gunk?”

“They’re beautiful,” Cas says, “like stars… constellations…”

He chuckles, “Shuddup…”

“No, seriously, I’m sure I can see Orion under your left- _mmph_!”

Dean kisses Cas, dipping his tongue into his mouth. The fingers in his ass still before picking up again; Cas leans into the embrace. The hand he used to separate Dean’s cheeks now squeezes tight. Nails bite into his flesh, compounding the pleasure. It shoots up into infinity when Cas bends his fingers at the right moment to brush against his prostate.

He moans into the kiss, breaking it to murmur, “Again, Cas, again…” Dean rolls his ass as Cas hits it one more time, now aware that three fingers are inside of him – scissoring him open. He kisses Cas again before trailing his lips down his neck, marking a path towards his collarbone. His tongue swirls at the dip of his Adam’s apple. Smacking his lips, he smiles at Cas. “Sweet,” he says, “Usually at this point things get a little… _salty_.”

Car raises a brow. “I don’t sweat.”

“Good.”

It seems like there’s a fourth finger bumping up against his ass. Dean asks Cas about it, tells him he’s never had four fingers up his hole but he’s willing to give it a shot. Cas freezes, his fingers half inside Dean. Then he laughs; a sound deep from inside his chest that almost sends Dean rolling off. He holds tight, yelping, questioning what’s so funny.

“That’s not my pinkie,” Cas wheezes, “That’s my _penis_.” Dean colors immediately, ducking his head out of sight. Cas lets go of his ass to tip his chin back up, so green can look into blue. “Hey, it’s okay…” he says, “a common mistake, I have been known for my abnormally large _pinkie_.”

Dean rolls his eyes, scoffing. He mutters, “Can’t believe I’m in love with a dork like you…” Immediately, teeth seize his lower lip. If it were possible, his face would burst into flames. Cas’s face turns pink, his own lips parting in a gasp. “I mean, I…” he racks his brain for an out, only to find none. “I can’t believe I just said that.”

“Do you mean it, though?”

Cas watches earnestly, as if Dean’s answer was preceded by a weeklong wait in front of a television screen yelling at a cliffhanger. “About being in – in love?” he asks.

“Yes?”

He sighs. “Yeah, I guess…” Swallowing around his heart, Dean tells Cas the truth. “I’ve always had a problem, growing up. I’d fall in love too fast, too hard – every cute guy was just the start of another bad romantic comedy for me. Except no one ever wanted to be with me once the credits finished scrolling. You’d think after years of picking up the pieces every time my heart shattered would have hardened it but I… I never gave up the idea that someone would want to _share_ in it. That there’d be a man worth my time that’d love me back.”

“I thought that was you, when we first met – that we’d hit it off and tell our kids about it years down the line. But then you mentioned something about powers and I… for the first time I doubted my feelings. I felt used, and _hurt_. The strangest thing, though, was all this time spent down here made me realize some things. One – you were pulling it out your _ass_ about your powers. Even when you weren’t using them I still felt this… this _connection_ to you. And two, this – this _bond_ terrifies me. I’ve never felt so wholly consumed by something. It’s what I always wanted, like this other part of me that I’ve been searching for.”

“Which makes sense given what I’m made up of. I’m _love_ , Cas. My mom made it so I’d always be connected to love, always feel it. I can look back knowing all those other times were just silly little head rushes, like my body being overwhelmed by a dose of adrenaline. With you it all rises to the top and… _settles_. Like I’m walking through a storm, the electricity crackling through the air. This is the real deal, Cas… what _fairy tales_ are made of.” His voice cracks at the end, and a tear leaks down his cheek. There’s a pressing sensation on his chest, like thousands of feelings all bottlenecking, trying to escape. Fear. Hope. Exhaustion. Excitement. Happiness. Melancholy. _Love_.

Cas laughs once more, a hollow sound. He rubs at his eye, two tracks of wetness coursing down his own cheeks. “I… I never thought this would happen to me again.”

“What?”

“After my folly, I made peace with the fact I’d be alone for the rest of my existence. It’s what I deserve after damning an entire city to wander without a home. For driving some of them to madness… to _death_ – my own _parent_. Happy endings weren’t made for people like me. When I heard of your birth, I figured that was as close as I’d get. That maybe I can finally make up for what I so callously loss. When it came time to fetch you, I took the mission upon myself. My plans for the evening were supposed to be much shorter than we made it. All I had to do was coerce you into taking a break and steal you away. But then I saw you.”

“You were the brightest thing in the room, smiling and chatting away with your customers. You _radiated_ joy. I found myself drawn to you like Icarus to the heavens. Your orbit was inescapable, and every time I thought of ending our little game you would look at me and…” He trails off, shaking.

Dean rests his forehead against his. “I looked at you like what?”

“Like you saw something worth seeing,” he confesses, “Like I wasn’t such a colossal screw up.” Cas rests his hand against Dean’s face, thumb gently caressing him. “It only took me seconds to fall in love with you, too. Except I hadn’t realized it until when you first kissed me. Convinced me that I was capable of it after so long…” He snorts, “Some god of love, huh?”

Dean pecks his lips, smiling. “Yeah, you really are.” He drops a deeper kiss onto him, losing himself in the touch and feel of their embrace. When Cas’s fingers shift inside of him does he realize what they were in the middle of. “Not to ruin the moment,” Dean says, giggling, “But uh… maybe we should get back to the sex?”

“Right, right…” Cas tests Dean’s hole, “Do you think you’re ready for –“

“Slather it up and stick it in.”

Cas pumps more lube into his hand, covering his dick well enough by the squish Dean hears. All the while Cas keeps pushing in and out with his fingers. “I’m going to enter you now.”

“Good to know.”

He feels Cas lining his hole up, Cas’s dick knocking at his entrance. The space behind it was waiting, wanting to be filled. Cas’s fingers left him stretched in the best way, but he needs _more_. Cas’s godly cock was the perfect fit.

“Yes!” he gasped as Cas enters him, “Oh, _yes_!” It wasn’t the thickest dick he’s ever sat on, that honor belonging to a trucker he met one night on a drive back from California. But the way it fits inside him, instantly finding his prostate, only reassures Dean that they were made for each other.

Cas fucks him slowly; spearing him and canting his hips back out until only his head stays inside. Then, shoves it back in with reckless abandon. Dean inches upwards with every push. His back arches as he sits on Cas’s crotch. With eyes rolling back into his head, Dean paws at Cas’s stomach.

Dean’s dick leaks a steady stream of precome, dripping down his length and pooling around Cas’s navel. He hasn’t touched it yet, but it surges towards orgasm on its own. A powerful jab at his prostate draws more from his dick.

He can feel more than just an orgasm building in his stomach. Dean, now more cognizant of his body, can differentiate the tightening of his balls to the rush of emotions prickling at his skin. Focusing on the sensations of Cas’s dick, Dean wills the swell out into the ether. He blinks, and colors flash where there were none before. It’s a rainbow outlined in fuschia.

“When you see the colors,” Bobby said, “Begin chanting.”

Dean was afraid, back when he saw the spell that he wouldn’t memorize it well enough to cast in the moment. He flunked out of Spanish back in high school, barely being able to ask where the bathroom was. But the scribbles on the musty yellowed scroll made sense to him after the first read through. And now he recites it perfectly, the ancient language rolling of his tongue like he spoke it since birth.

His voice stutters as Cas picks up his pace, muttering “I’m gonna… I’m gonna…” under breath. Dean’s dick seizes as well, spurting like a broken fountain. He hasn’t climaxed yet, and staves it off until the spell nears its end.

The last few words lilt off his tongue and he cries out. It felt like his orgasm was ripped from him, the cum spraying and painting Cas’s chest. His vision falters, spinning. The headboard of his bed fades away as he falls back, overtaken by the blackness of the canopy. He hears Cas calling his name, but it sounds far away. Darkness creeps up on him.

Dean wakes, naked, in a strange location. It’s the cavern from earlier, with the strange pinkish glow, like the one in his bedroom. He walks towards it, uncaring to the rocks littering the path. The key calls to him, like the melody of his mother’s lullaby. Hands shaking, Dean can almost grab it. He thinks maybe his spell worked _too_ well, and instead of just locating it he actually traveled to the key.

But then the air shifts. He pauses, turning towards an unfamiliar sound. Like a thousand nails scraping across glass. There’s an entrance off to the side where it comes from. It gets louder, whatever causing it moving closer. Dean startles when a thriving mass seeps into the room.

The mass rushes over, taking up any available space. He yelps, stumbling backwards as it pushes towards him. It’s near enough Dean can see that the strange entity is nothing more than thick cords the color of midnight. As if someone unraveled a large sweater and there was nothing left but… _strings_.

“ _Dean Winchester_!” three voices shriek, “ _Abomination_!”

He finds himself back in his room, Cas standing over him with a glass of water in hand. Cas holds it to his lips, “Drink. You were out for nearly an hour.”

“Out?”

“Yes, you passed out after you… _came_ ,” Cas chuckles, scratching at his neck, “I’ll admit it’s been awhile since I’ve had sex but I don’t remember it going like that…”

“Wasn’t you, asshole,” Dean grouses, “The spell… took me to the key.”

Cas kneels, grabbing his hand. “You saw it?”

Dean nods. “I know where it is.”

“That’s good!”

“But the bad news is that I'm not the only one…”

“What are you talking about?”

“The Fates,” Dean tells him, “They know, too.”


	5. Bull's-Eye!

Dean never saw the appeal of hiking until now. Growing up, he was an indoor kid. Not by choice – a father who spent more of his money and time at a bar meant he could never stray from the house for long. But even if he had the conventional childhood like everyone else, Dean believed his stance on outdoor activities wouldn’t have changed. Sports were okay to watch, especially the players, but he wouldn’t want to be an active participant. He blamed all the years of being picked last in gym class because no one wanted to have the gay kid on their team. Dean didn’t think _that_ was the reason, until he tried out for the wrestling team in sophomore year during some strange case of school spirit. The team cornered him after tryouts and beat him senseless, calling him ‘fag’, ‘fairy’, and other slurs. A shame, really, as the coach thought Dean could go far.

And he has, in such a short period of time. It’s not _everyone_ who gets the chance to save a mythical city and its people from extinction, ascending a mountain in Greece. The view in Lawrence was never this pretty. Rolling, blue skies and hyper-green trees. A towering structure of stone that made him feel small. Dean promises himself that after he helps the Olympians he’s going to explore more of what nature has to offer.

“Hey,” Cas nudges him, “You okay?”

Dean shakes from his reverie, Cas by his side squinting at him. He chuckles, scratching at his neck. “Yeah, just lost in my thoughts I guess…”

“Nervous?”

“Somewhat,” Dean admits, “But not about what’s coming, more like… I’ve never been outside the states before. Didn’t think I could ever see a sight like this.”

“Why not?”

“I’m kind of a nervous flyer,” he says, “The only time I tried getting on a plane I fainted and missed Sam’s family weekend. Dad wouldn’t stop mocking me for months, not until he…” Dean quiets, unwilling to talk about the final hours of his father’s life.

Cas threads their fingers together, squeezing. “It’s a good thing our methods of travel don’t require us to zip through the air then.”

Dean shrugs. “Yeah, but I don’t think I’ll be able to poop for a week.”

Hermes laughs from behind them, reminding Dean they weren’t alone. He glances back at the troupe that follows, all decked out with weapons and armor. They look out of place, pulled from time, but considering where they were it probably felt more like coming home.

After figuring out where the key was, Cas went about assembling his family in the library as Dean cleaned himself up once more. When he arrived, they were whispering in hushed tones. It stopped after he shut the door. He walked in with all their eyes on him. There were the familiar faces he knew, and a few others. From what he knew, all that was left of the Pantheon was there waiting.

“So,” Athena started, “you know where the key is?”

Dean nodded. “I had a vision… it’s in a cave. But even though I didn’t really see where the cave is I… I don’t know – it’s just an instinctual thing.”

“An instinctual thing,” Hephaestus sighed, rolling his eyes, “Can you be a little more forthcoming than _that_.”

He tried putting it into words, but he didn’t know much about geography to do it justice. Instead he scanned the room, searching for anything to help him. He spotted it off to the side on a low shelf. Dean pointed to it, “Can someone hand me that globe?”

Hestia, the closest to it, retrieved it for him. Dean spun the model, watching as the countries blurred together. Without warning he stabbed at it, halting its rotation. He couldn’t help the giggle that burst forward after seeing where his finger landed.

“What?” Hephaestus asked, “What’s so funny?”

“You’re going home,” Dean said to them, “You’re going to _Greece_.”

Mount Olympus, specifically, a fact that was not lost on him as it was the rest of the group. After narrowing down where the key was waiting for him, everyone started moving around him and getting ready. Cas was lost in the sea of gods, Dean being pulled away by Hermes.

“Wait,” he said, struggling, “what about Cas –“

“Your love god’s got things to do,” he told Dean, “but don’t worry, he gave me the go ahead to get you kitted up. We have to get you some protection – although maybe it’s a little too late for that.” Hermes winked at him, ignoring his further protests.

Dean uses his free hand to rest on the hilt of his new sword, a slender thing that hits up against his leg with every step. He picked it out from an array down in Hephaestus’s forge. When Hermes first showed him it, all the weapons hanging on the walls captivated him. As time went on, his patience wore thin. The temperature was too much to handle, and he was glad to find a weapon that worked for him so he could get out and take his third bath of the day.

“Do you see that?” Cas asks him, directing him over to some far off point towards the right. Dean tries to discern what Cas saw, but can’t cover the distance the other man can. He shakes his head ‘no’. “It’s a cave,” Cas tells him, “It’s the only one we’ve found in this direction. Can you sense anything?”

Stopping, Dean closes his eyes and focuses his energies. Breathing deeply, he tests the surrounding sensations to discern whether the key’s call is louder or quieter. Like a divining rod, Dean used this tactic since they blipped onto the foot of the mountain rage; following wherever the stick shook. Dean winces at the high-pitched whine. “Yeah,” he says, “Yeah it’s our way in.”

Cas holds his hand up, halting their progress. “There’s an entrance up there,” he yells, “Once we’re inside, we’ll be hedged in. The Fates and their armies could be waiting to strike in the shadows. Charlie, Dorothy, Artemis – I want you all up here on point with us.” The three soldiers break from the crowd, striding over. Charlie and Dorothy were decorated in ornate armor, the metal glittering in the setting sun. Artemis wore the same jacket and plaid combo Dean first saw her in. “If there is an attack, you three will protect Dean. He _must_ get to the key – only he can take it.”

Dean smiles at his security detail, glad at whom Cas picked for him. In fact the entire troupe was filled with the few friends he made while staying in the Bunker. Benny and Cain protected the rear with the other Minotaur and a few Cyclopes. Jo held her bow at the ready along the trail, galloping forward every few miles to make sure they weren’t walking into a trap, as were the centaurs’ jobs. Even those who were not fit for fighting journeyed with them, willing to help in any capacity.

Teleporting the entire Bunker’s contents were a _tremendous_ feat. When the gods did it, they immediately dropped from exhaustion. The first night they camped at the base, protecting their tanks as they recharged. Once they were back at working capacity, the army packed up and began walking.

The climb up to the cave entrance is rocky, and Dean’s boots were not made for this trek. He stares enviously at those around him who traverse the terrain with ease. Charlie hops like the goat she is, while Dorothy’s size makes each stride wide. Even the gods have an easy time climbing and they weren’t wearing shoes. In his distraction, Dean steps on a loose rock and loses his footing. He starts falling backwards until a strong hand wraps around his wrist.

Cas pulls him back up, smiling. “Hold on tight,” he whispers, “We’re almost there.” He doesn’t let go until the trail smoothes out. Turning to the group once more, Cas yells out, “Stay in tight formation, and ready to respond at the slightest sign of trouble. Make sure you’re all prepared, and then we’ll head in.”

In the clatter that followed where everyone checked their weapons and armor, Dean stared into the dark cavern. He shuffles closer, as if hypnotized, not sure whether his eyes are playing tricks on him or if the glowing is real. A voice sings to him, calling his name, “ _Dean… Dean…_ ”

“Dean!”

He comes back to himself, Cas holding on tight to his shoulders. Cas gazes at him worriedly, fingers flexing against his shirt. “What?” Dean asks.

“You were drifting,” Cas tells him, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean waves Cas away. He rubs at his temple, sighing. “Just… the pull was really intense there.”

“That’s a good thing.” Cas smiles at him, chuckling. “But don’t drift away from the group, okay?”

“Got it.”

By the time Dean had himself back under control, they were ready to go. He leads the group in, each step soft so as to not make a sound. Cas holds his hand like Dean is the last rope keeping a fraying bridge from dropping into a ravine.

“Can you feel the magic here Dean?” Cas asks him, “It’s dizzying… almost like the air thins. It reminds me of… it reminds me of Olympus.”

Dean nods. “I thought it was weird at first,” he admits in a hushed whisper, “the magic. Like everything else, I didn’t want to believe it was true. But now that I can almost _touch_ it, I… I can’t remember ever being without it. Magic has always been a part of me, like my emotions.” He threads their fingers together, “Like _love_.”

They choose not to speak after that, preferring to devote their energies towards staying alert. There were many corners and holes within the cavern Dean were sure the Fates could use to hide their forces. But the farther they descend, the less likely it seems that their enemies were planning an attack. The silence hid nothing but dread to Dean.

It wasn’t a good sign.

“I don’t like this,” Artemis says, blade drawn and held protectively, “At least every time we faced the Fates their plans were the same: throw everything they have until we’re broken. Why switch up their strategy now?”

“Maybe it’s a positive thing,” Hermes suggests, “Maybe they’ve given up?”

Charlie scoffs. “You think they’re the type to let go of grudges?”

“No,” Hermes shrugs, “but I figured it’d be a nice thought for a second before the rug gets pulled out from under us.”

Dean rolls his eyes at the messenger god. He doesn’t disagree with him, however. All his life, Dean has never had an easy go of things. It’s not like the difficulty would decrease after he discovered his part to play in an ancient prophecy; instead it _increased_. And he’s played enough video games at the arcade to know that if it’s this quiet, the boss fight will be _hell._

“Stop.”

Cas holds a hand up, Dean barely seeing past the bright glow before them. He looks at his Olympian, concerned. “Why are we stopping?” he asks.

He raises a brow at Dean, pointing. “We’ve hit a dead end?”

“No?” Dean says, “It’s right there.” He questions the crowd, wondering if they saw what he did. When they couldn’t, Dean realizes he’s alone.

Cas grabs at his shoulder. “What do you see?”

“I see… I see a lot of pink,” Dean inches closer to the glow. With each step, his skin sizzles like the temperature compounds upon itself. He holds a hand up to his face, peeking through the slots his fingers create.

“There’s a door,” Dean tells them, “A _large_ one. It’s dark in color, and glowing. And so many ornaments – golden figures decorating the arch and the handles.” A loop hangs at a height that stops a little over where his head rests. Dean reaches for it, his hand barely fitting around its width. He expects the door to weigh tons, but as he drags it open finds it as light as air.

Gasps and screams echo towards the back as the glamour fades, and the opening appears. Cas joins him, gaping at the wide room before them. He turns to him. “Is this…?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, “Like what I saw…” Squeezing Cas’s hand in his once more, he whispers to him, “Together?”

“Together.” As one, they walk into the key’s domain. The glow is unrelenting, making the air feel heavier than it actually was. Dean wades through the thickness, like walking through glue. When he and Cas move close enough, the tension breaks.

The door behind them slams shut. Before they even realize it, strings start lowering themselves from cracks in the ceiling. Descending like thousands of spiders. “The Fates!”

“Go!” Cas pushes him forward, drawing his blade, “I’ll hold them off. You need to get the key, go!” Dean spends a beat gazing at Cas, watching as his love shifts into a warrior mode. His trench coat fans out behind him, blades appear in hand, and his eyes glow as electric as the first time they met. His breath catches in his throat. “Go!” Cas yells.

He runs. It’s not very far, but the power makes even a simple block feel like a marathon. Threads twist and weave together, churning around them. As it was in his vision, they act like a tidal wave in their advance. What he didn’t see, and what he notices now, is that a few of them sew themselves together into the shape of a hand. Like Dean, it’s extended out towards the key. Dean snarls, grabbing at his blade. “I don’t think so, bitch!”

Dean jumps, slicing it off at the wrist before the Fates could grab the key. He plunges his hand into the glow, instead, pulling out a heftier object than some key. The glow fades, and the only light came from the key itself.

Except it wasn’t a key. It’s long and sharp, made of silver unlike anything Dean has seen before. Holding his blade up to it, he notices the key matches the length of it. “What the hell,” he murmurs, scanning it, “What kind of a lock fits a key like this?”

“ _A special kind of lock, Dean Winchester_.”

Dean twists around, trying to find where the voice came from. There was nothing surrounding him except a sea of thread, not even Cas was visible amongst the mess. That concerns him more than the situation he finds himself in. “The Fates,” he growls, “what are you talking about?”

“ _We’ve waited many a millennia for you, Dean Winchester_ ,” they say, the cacophony of feminine notes mixing together as one, “ _The prophecy child finally coming into his own_.”

“Sure, yeah, okay,” Dean rolls his eyes, “You’re excited to see me – not the first ladies I’ve heard say that. I hate to break it to you, but you’re not my type and I’m definitely not _yours_.”

“ _We know, Dean Winchester_.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“ _We know_ ** _all_** _. Like your affections towards…_ ** _this_** _,_ ” the threads detangle, and a familiar figure emerges from within the mess. Dean nearly rushes over to him, only holding himself back as the Fates’ strings slither around the ground like snakes.

Cas looks Christ-like in his capture, his arms and legs bound together with no cross to support him. He holds his head high, gaze burning with righteous fury as he refuses to give the Fate’s notice. His clothes are in tatters, but he doesn’t mind. Cas’s focus locks on Dean.

“ _What_?” they ask, “ _No smart remarks?_ ”

Dean scowls, a furious fire flooding his systems. He answers their question with another. “Do you think I’m going to trade the key for him, is that it?” he asks, “Because believe me, I’m sure I can find the lock faster than you can kill him.”

“ _We demand no such thing, Dean Winchester_ ,” they say, “ _We are only trying to help_.”

They knock him off his rhythm. “What?”

“ _That key is no ordinary key as you have guessed_ ,” they hiss, strings dancing along the walls in a disorienting pattern, “ _It is a blade, forged from the wellspring of emotions._ ”

“…The Collective Unconscious?”

“ _Precisely_ ,” they say, “ _That is why you are the only one who can handle it, as you are made from the same stuff as they. Like handles like._ ”

“So that’s why,” he says, “Things are… making sense. You haven’t been fighting the Olympians, you’ve been _guiding_ them.”

“ _It has been our duty for centuries to decide the fate of the universe, for both the mortal and immortal worlds. There is no possibility we cannot foretell, no answer we do not know. We have seen the past, present, and future happening at the same time. Your birth was decided from the moment the prophecy was created_.”

“And you killed my mom for what reason? If she did what you wanted?”

“ _Everyone has their part to play. She bore you… it was kindness we allowed her those extra years_.”

Dean chokes back a sob, their words like nails scraping across his skin. “Monsters!”

“ _We are not monsters, Dean Winchester, we are_ ** _order_** _. Everything we do helps keep the world running smoothly. There is no being who is above our power. And sometimes,_ ” they tighten their bonds around Castiel, causing him to grit in pain. “ _We need to flex our powers to remind those who think they can defy fate… always find their way back onto our chessboard like the pawns they are._ ”

He stares at the key in his hand, chuckling. “So that’s what this is for, huh?” he asks, “Proving a point? I’m going to have to – to what? _Stab_ myself?”

“ _Now that’s too simple, Dean Winchester. We know all, like what’s in your heart. Sacrificing your body for others’ happiness is not a struggle for someone like you who has cut off more flesh than he had to give. No,_ ” they sing, “ _We know there’s only one area where you truly allow yourself to be…_ ** _selfish_** _.”_

They float Cas forward, closer to Dean. In his slow wake, he and Cas both realize what the Fates intend for him to do. Dean backs away, lowering the blade. “No!”

“Witches!” Cas struggles in his bonds, “This was never part of the prophecy! You – you’re making this up as you go along!”

“ _On the contrary, this was always what it was going to come down to_ ,” the Fates tell them, “ _haven't you ever wondered why the tablet you unearthed seemed…_ ** _cracked_** _._ ” Cas’s eyes widen, skin paling. “ _You knew who to collect and what you needed, figured out how to go about finding it… but the part you were missing?_ ** _To break Olympus from this curse, the prophesized must do the worse. Cut out their heart and let it bleed, and all that power shall be freed._** ”

“You’re lying,” Dean says, shaking his head, “You’re trying to mess with us, trying to – trying to –“

“Dean.”

“Like hell I’ll stab Cas, he’s –“

“ _Dean!_ ”

He freezes; Cas’s voice a wretched note of desperation and sadness. Dean stares at his love, understands the dim light shining behind his eyes. Shaking his head, his grip on the key loosens. “No… no…”

“Dean,” Cas whispers, “You have to kill me –“

“ _No_!” he roars, “Why would you – How can you ask me to do that?”

“Because my people need their home,” Cas says, “Because this was all my fault to begin with… it’s only right that it ends with me as well.”

“Cas, we can fix this,” Dean says, reaching for him. The strings rise up, blocking his path until he returned to where he stood. “Cas,” he tries again, “There’s got to be another way.”

“It was always going to end like this,” Cas tells him, “Ever since this damned curse was cast I’ve been seeking redemption. Working tirelessly to make up for my sins, to be worthy of the title of god. So please, Dean, be the savior you were born to be. Open the gate… for _me_.”

Dean can’t hold back his tears any longer, the tracks making their way down his face. A broken sob erupts from his chest, and he crumbles onto his knees. “No,” he shudders, “No no no… I can’t – I can’t lose you now. After I’ve found you, I love… I love…”

“ _It doesn’t have to end like this…_ ”

His eyes widen as the Fates whisper like they’re right against his ear. He dare not move; frightened by how close the strings have gotten. “What are you talking about?”

“ _You want to fight fate?_ ” they ask, “ _It’s simple really. As you and the key are made from the same source it is yours to take, but also yours to_ ** _break_** _.”_

“You want me to destroy the key?”

“No, Dean,” Cas shouts, fighting his bonds, “Don’t listen to them –“

“ _It’s the only way we all win. Olympus will fall, and you can have the love we chose for you._ ”

Dean snarls at that. “That you _chose_? The hell’re you talking about?”

The Fates cackle wickedly. “ _As we keep repeating, we know all – see_ ** _all_** _that can be. Possibilities abound like… like strings. We pluck and we pluck, keeping the universe neat and orderly. Some strings cling, though, and we prepare for those possibilities. If there was ever to be a being like you, we knew it could only be because of one thing –_ ** _love_** _. That cursed emotion that does its best to make our plans turn to dust.”_

_“It’s only fitting that we make love work for_ ** _us_** _for a change. A being made of love_ ** _cannot_** _harm that which they hold close to their heart – it’d be like hurting themselves. Of course we’d use that knowledge to our advantage… and craft the remedy in such a way that it can never be made._ ”

“You’re monsters!”

“ _We’re winners_ ,” they say, “ _Deciders. We captain the universe – the only beings capable. Without us, it would all descend into chaos. The world doesn’t need the gods, having advanced far past them. You don’t need them… you only need_ ** _one_** _. Are we monsters for helping you meet the love of your life? The perfect mate we chose for you?_ ”

“Then why do I have to _kill_ him –“

“ _Listen closely, as we grow tired of repeating ourselves. You don’t have to kill him… destroy the key and the prophecy will never come to pass. And you and Eros can live out the rest of your fates in each other’s company… in each other’s love. Fate stays safe._ ”

Dean curls into himself, the weight of the decision he has to make crushing him. As much as he wants to rage against the Fates, their words shake his foundations. He always thought him and his true love were destined to meet, only the reality is much more sinister than that. The revelation spills tar over his heart, the love inside curdling like it was _tainted_.

Unable to help himself, Dean glances up at Cas, who looks as broken as he feels. “Cas,” he croaks out, “I don’t know… I just… I _don’t_ know.”

Cas sighs. “Dean, I… I trust you.”

“What?”

“I trust you,” he continues, “with whatever choice you end up making. Because I love you and I know your heart is good and pure. Don’t listen to what these hags have to say… the bond we share isn’t a chain. You and I were not shackled together. My time with you was the first time – even before this whole mess with the curse started – that I truly felt _free_. The Fates couldn’t have decided you were made for me because our love transcends all of it. Our love is a god of its own.”

“You know where I stand on this issue, how I feel,” Cas says, “What happens next is up to you. Know that I’ll understand whatever decision you choose.” He picks his chin up, slipping on a brave mask. Underneath it, though, Dean can tell he’s scared. But any qualms that fear inspires are soothed by the pure adoration for Dean shining from within.

It’s the kind of feeling he’s dreamed about for so long. What he has craved ever since he knew what love could look like. The gold ring that drove him to keep going on this shitty marathon called his life, to jump past each and every hurdle.

And he had it. For a brief time, it was his – like a candle flickering in the wind. Nothing and no one can take that away from them.

Dean makes his choice.

“Okay,” he whispers, “I’ll… I’ll do it.”

“ _Of course you will_ ,” they say, “ _As we knew you would_.”

He stands, body wavering. His grip on the key tightens, as he holds it out in front of him. Shaking, his other hand rises to grip the other end. The blade draws blood from his skin, trickling down his palm. “Like and like…”

Dean lunges towards Cas.

“ _No! You can’t –_ “

“Hnng-aaah!”

Light pours out from every part of Cas’s body, Dean’s eyes luckily screwed shut. Past the ringing of his ears, Dean can hear the Fates dying caterwaul. Their echo fades into the ether like the tattered remains of their plans.

Dean opens his eyes when he hears the slump of a body hitting the floor. The bramble of strings are gone, turned to dust and ash around them; Cas, being held up by the Fate’s strings, had no support and slid off the now stained blade. He blinks at the corpse of his true love, body light and almost dream-like. Hand seizing, Dean can no longer keep a steady grip on the key and it drops from his hands. The sound of it falling shocks Dean back to reality, and he gasps past the sobs to greedily suck in air.

“Cas…” he mutters, only to repeat much more loudly, “ _Cas!_ ” Cas can’t hear him, and Dean cries when his knees slam to the ground beside him.

Without the strings blocking its way, the doors open once more. The front line charges in, weapons drawn, only to find they missed the grand battle. Dean hears Hermes from across the room, his quiet “Oh no” loud in the deathly silence. He can’t look to them though, eyes drawn to the hole in Cas’s chest, to the blood slowly oozing it’s way across the tan trench coat and towards the floor.

Dean feels it happen when the first drop hits. Like the Fates said, after Dean tore his heart out and let it bleed, there’s nothing keeping Olympus locked up anymore.

“It happened,” Athena says, “It’s done… Olympus…”

“You can feel it?” Charlie asks, “Our home is… is safe?”

“ _We’re_ safe,” Hermes tells them, “thanks to Dean and… and _Eros_ …”

Dean’s hand seeks out Cas’s limp one, tangling their fingers together once more.

“Well then that means the Fates…” Artemis starts.

Hestia finishes for her, “The Fates are _gone_.”

Charlie bleats, “What does that mean though? What’s going to happen?”

No one has an answer save Dean. “Nothing’ll happen,” he says, drawing their attention to him, “Nothing and _everything_.”

“What –“

“So the Fates are gone, so what?” he continues, still staring at Cas’s body, “None of us owed them anything. Their decisions weren’t made because they _cared_ about us. Every choice was for _them_. But now it’s our turn in the driver’s seat. We get to decide what _our_ fates will be. And if it descends into chaos then fine! All that matters is that we make every day better than the last… that we _live_ and we – and we _love_.”

Dean whimpers, breaking even further. He drops his face into Cas’s wound, crying into it. “Cas,” he whispers, “There’ll never be anyone like you…”

He can tell the others gather around him, their eyes burning on his back. Dean can’t find it within him to care, for his heart shattered one final time. There’s no reason for him to pick up the pieces anymore. All he can do is let the shards slip from his chest and bury themselves in Cas.

It is funny though. He imagined Cas would be colder. His dad was, in that hospital bed as he said goodbye. Nevertheless a simple touch of Cas leaves him scorching even though his flame was snuffed too soon. “So warm…”

A chorus of gasps fills the space, startling Dean away from Cas. When he gets some distance, Dean realizes why they all reacted as they did.

Cas glows like before, only much softer and of a different color. Dean stabbing him made Cas burn a bright, white light. This, however, was the fuchsia he has come to associate with one thing: _love_.

His wound stitches itself closed before Dean’s eyes, nothing left of it but the stain his blood made on his white shirt. Color pours back into his skin, the pallor replaced with Cas’s golden hue. Dean isn’t sure what is happening until the pink fades and Cas’s eyes wretch themselves open. Cas sits up, inhaling deeply.

His gaze tracks each face watching him, stopping when it reaches Dean. He frowns, “Did… did it work?”

Dean cries, and he laughs, and he throws himself at Cas. “I don’t know what happened,” he starts, “But you’re never doing that to me again!”

“I… I also don’t know what happened,” Cas admits, slowly returning Dean’s hug, “You stabbed me, there was this bright light and… it should have worked right? Did it work?”

Dean pulls back, squinting at him. “Can’t you feel it, Cas? The energy? Olympus is –“

“I can’t feel it.”

He frowns, unable to comprehend Cas’s words. “What?”

“I… I can’t feel it,” Cas continues, frantic, “My wings – the power it’s… it’s gone.”

Dean’s eyes widen. “You… what are you saying?”

“I… I think I’m _human_.”

The ringing returns, overwhelming Dean’s ears with that dreadful noise. He can’t even hear his own voice, unsure of what he’s saying. His vision starts to blacken until Cas drags him away from the edge. Cas takes Dean’s hands in his and murmurs the same word over and over again. It’s a while before he realizes Cas was saying Dean’s name.

Dean rushes out, “I’m sorry.”

Cas pauses, brows rising. “What are you sorry for?”

“For – for… for taking away your retribution,” he says, “Bringing you back even when you wanted to die –“

“Dean,” Cas says, “I’m not mad. I’m far from it… why would you think I’m upset?”

“Because you’re human.”

“I’ve been toeing that line for quite some time.”

“You can’t go home.”

“Everyone else can,” Cas shrugs, “Besides… I’m already home.”

That’s all it takes to make the smile blossom through the harsh cracks on Dean’s face. He leans forward to capture Cas’s lips with his; pouring all of his love into the other man and receiving it back tenfold. They break apart with a sigh.

“Now,” Cas says, “do you think you can help me up? I’m tired of being down here…”

Dean chuckles. “Of course.” He stands first, offering his hand to Cas. Helping him upright, Cas takes a step and immediately regrets it. Cas curses, stumbling back into Dean’s waiting arms. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I… I stepped on a rock?”

Hermes laughs from nearby, wiping away the tears from his eyes. “Sorry to say this, Eros, but I think you’re going to have to get used to _shoes_.”

Cas rolls his eyes, smirking. “I’ll live. And please, don’t call me Eros anymore.”

“Really?”

“Eros is dead, gone…” he looks to Dean, smiling, “It’s Cas now.”

“Cas,” Dean sighs, “My Cas…”

“Yes, always and forever…”

They kiss one last time before the gods whisk them away, dropping them on a deserted stretch of road next to Dean’s Baby. Wrapped in each other’s arms, Cas asks what’s next for them.

Dean bites his lip and winks. “We go wherever the road takes us. If something comes up, we’ll handle it _together_.”

“I like that.”

“So do I.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

_Epilogue_

Dean leads Cas up the stairs, hand-in-hand. It’s only been a few weeks of being human, but it’s been tough on Cas. His body needed to earn its muscle mass, and simple tasks were met with whining. They’re on their third flight of stairs when Cas whines and sags. “How much _farther_?” he asks.

“Fourth floor, angel,” Dean chuckles, “One more flight.”

“I hate stairs.”

“We all hate stairs,” he sighs, “But the sign said the elevator was out of order so…”

“ _Stairs_ ,” Cas growls.

They make it to the correct floor without further incident, following the numbers until they find Sam’s. He squeezes Cas’s hand in anticipation, excited to finally introduce his brother to his boyfriend. Especially since it’s going to be a surprise.

Dean thought about telling Sam, but after the ordeal he was put through, he needed to see his brother in person. He’s not sure if the sentiment will be appreciated, however, given a visit in the middle of the semester means he’ll be interrupting prime studying time.

It’s not like Sam needs to dedicate so much of it to sticking his nose in his books. His degree in history with a focus on the occult will make sure it’s buried there for far longer than the four years of undergrad and three years of graduate school.

Knocking on the door, Dean feels Cas tense beside him. He turns to him, “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” Cas sighs, biting his lip, “Nerves. I _am_ meeting your family –“

“He’ll love you, it’ll be no problem.”

“Should I have brought something?”

“Angel, relax, he’s not going to care –“

The door opens up, revealing a sweaty Sam with a loose sheet tied around his waist. He’s counting out a few bills, asking, “How much should I give you as tip?” Sam looks up; slack jawed as he notices his brother. “You… you’re not the Chinese Delivery Guy.”

“No,” Dean says, “but I did bring something that’s sweet _and_ spicy.”

Cas shoves at him, “Dean.”

Sam sets his gaze on Cas, eyeing him up and down. Then, he glances at his chest and flushes bright crimson. He tries hiding behind his door. “This is a surprise –“

“That was the point –“

“You couldn’t have called me?” Sam hisses, “I’m kinda in the middle of something.”

“Is it more important than your brother?”

“Well…”

“Sam?” a voice calls from deeper inside the apartment, “Sam what’s taking so long? We’re starving!”

Dean grins at his little brother, socking him in the chest. “ _We_?”

“Shut up…”

Too embarrassed to fight, Dean and Cas slip past Sam and into the apartment. It was like Dean remembered, a complete and total mess. His brother was never good at picking up after himself, and neither were his hookups. The trail of clothes from the sofa to the bedroom door is obvious, and the fact that two bras were draped over each other was not lost on him. Besides the clothes, there were also books scattered everywhere. Sam couldn’t keep them on his bookshelves, always leaving a book open on a flat surface and moving on to another. There are a few newer additions, though. He can glance into the kitchenette and tell Sam bought a new fridge – grey instead of the periwinkle blue they picked out when he first moved in. And on the coffee table across from the small TV rests an orange plastic bong. Dean raises a brow at it. “Finally giving into the college life, Van Wilder?”

“Seriously, could you can it with the jokes?”

He wants to respond, unfortunately at that time a woman pokes her head out. She glares at Sam for a beat until she spots Dean and Cas. “Sam!” she yells, “The hell? Did you think this was going to be an _orgy_?”

Sam blanches. “No – _No!_ This is my brother –“

“Brother? Gross, I did not sign up for incest.” She stalks out clad in only her underwear, uncaring as she picks up her clothes. “Tracy! Tracy come on, we’re leaving!”

Another girl sticks her head out, “But what about the Chinese food, Alicia?”

Alicia throws a bra at her head, “We’ll go out and get our own.” They dress quickly, Alicia dragging Tracy out behind her. “Thanks for the orgasms, Winchester.” He moves to follow them out, but the door slams shut before he could get there.

Sam spins to face Dean, glowering. “Thanks a lot, Dean. Way to screw up true love.”

“True love?” Dean scoffs, “Both of them?”

“It can happen, it’s called polyamory,” Sam tells him, crossing his arms, “But now I’ll never get the chance to experience that because you barged in with your…” He waves at Cas, “whoever you are – I’m sorry, I’m being rude. My name is Sam Winchester, and you are?”

“Cas.”

“Cas…?”

“Just Cas,” Dean says, tugging Cas over to the sofa, “Why don’t you get dressed Mister Sister Wives and then I can properly introduce you.”

Sam rolls his eyes, “Whatever.” He collects his own clothes and heads into his bedroom.

Dean leans back, slinging an arm around Cas’s shoulders and pulling him close. Cas sighs into his chest, “That was… strange.”

He shrugs. “It’s not the first time I’ve walked in on Sam post-intercourse. It’s always funny though – that boy can never keep a relationship going once they have sex.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, it all kind of fizzles out. It’s not like that stops him, though. For him, when one pair of legs closes another pair opens… or in this case, pairs.”

“Hmm…”

Dean frowns at Cas. “What?”

Cas meets his stare, smiling. “Just thinking.”

“What are you thinking?”

“Well, the way you described Sam reminded me of many Custodials.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” Cas says, “Custodials are physical, sexual creatures – always bouncing around and having sex with each other. While I’m sure a part of the love that created you resides in your brother as well, it is of a different nature. You know what I mean, right?”

“I think so,” Dean says, “I can get really in tune with, like, the emotions and stuff of it – feel love on a deeper level. But for Sam, he can’t get romantically involved but gets overwhelmed with a crazy lust he mistakes for love?”

“Something like that.”

“Weird.”

“Yes. Who knows, maybe when he gets older your brother will start to act more like Bobby and Crowley?”

Dean winces, Cas’s suggestion drawing forth the mental image of the two men plus Sam, all dressed in sheer kaftans and smoking out of a hookah pipe. He drags a hand down his face, “Please don’t make me regret our true love thing, Cas.”

“What’s this about true love?” Sam emerges from his room in a ratty pair of jeans, frayed at the cuffs, and a hoodie. He raises a brow at their arrangement but doesn’t remark on it further, sitting on the chair he and Dean dragged in from off the street the last time he visited.

“Me and Cas,” Dean says, “We’re true love.”

“You are?”

“Yep.”

“Careful Dean,” Sam laughs, “You’re starting to sound like me.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Well unlike you, I know for sure this is the real deal.”

“Of course you do…” Sam shakes his head, tousling his shaggy bangs, “So, not that I don’t appreciate your taking time out of your busy life to visit, there’s got to be more than just introductions going on, right?”

Cas and Dean glance at each other, fighting back twin grins. Sam looks between the two, frowning.

Dean chuckles, rubbing his hand up and down his thigh. “Well… what if I told you that after today, it’ll be much easier to visit you?”

“What’re you talking about, Dean?”

He slaps his knee, “We moved!”

“What!”

“Yep,” Dean says, “Cas and I bought a little house down by the beach, finished setting it up and everything.” There wasn’t much of his stuff in there, Dean selling most of it along with his apartment after he and Cas drove in to Lawrence. Besides the new furniture, most of what resides in their home belongs to Cas.

The Olympians were very thorough, taking nearly everything within the Bunker save a few things. All of Cas’s belongings in the Study remained, as well as a trove of books and treasures they left as gifts. Some he accepted happily, like Charlie’s gem encrusted goblet or the literal wing-tip shoes from Hermes. Others, he brought along only out of kindness. Bobby and Crowley had good intentions, but the butt plug was never going to find its way towards his hole.

“You and Cas… you’re moving in to-together?”

“Yep!”

He knows Sam well enough to understand the bitchy expression sliding across his face. Luckily, the buzzer rings, announcing the arrival of the Chinese food. Sam goes to let him in. “You can have what the girls ordered, I guess, seeing as they aren’t here.”

“Whaddya say, Cas? In the mood for Chinese?”

Cas places a hand against his stomach, letting a beat pass before nodding. “I can very much eat now, although I do have to relieve myself.” He stands, turning to Sam, “Which way is your bathroom?”

Sam points down the hall, “Second door on the left.”

“Thank you.” Cas makes it a few steps before looking back, “Also, I apologize if I make a mess. I haven’t adjusted to bodily maintenance yet.”

“What?” It’s too late, Cas disappearing behind the door.

He gapes at Dean, backing down when he notices the fierce protectiveness burning in his eyes. Sam shuffles in place, wringing his hands together. Clearing his throat, he starts, “So…”

“So…?”

“Cas, he – he seems kinda…”

“Seems kinda what?”

“ _Weird_?” Sam startles, stumbling over himself, “Not that it’s a bad thing, except he doesn’t seem to fit your – your, y’know… _type_.”

Dean wants to tell him that he did, once. Back when he had his powers and was more put together, dressed in a three-piece suit and trench coat. Now, however, without his powers his wardrobe has changed tremendously. At first Dean tried dressing him in his clothes, but Cas didn’t take to the plaid and denim. The fabrics were too stifling – he needed his skin to _breathe_. The cotton pants were light and airy, and the linen light blue button down complemented his eyes. His scruff has gotten a bit more unkempt, although his hair remained as messy as it was when he was a god. And even though he can’t walk around barefoot anymore, Cas still won’t wear shoes. The flip-flops were the product of compromise after a long fight.

Even with all these superficial changes, he was the same man Dean fell in love with. Who would he be if he didn’t let Cas explore his newfound humanity, especially after Cas was there for him when discovering the unknown parts of himself.

“That doesn’t matter anymore,” Dean tells him, “ _Cas_ is my type.”

Sam stares at him, frowning. Dean meets it with one of his own, challenging him, unwilling to look away. His brother’s mask cracks, and a proud smile breaks out from behind it. “You’re really gone on him, aren’t you?”

“Lost and proud of it.”

“And moving in together so soon?”

“We’ve already been through so much together,” Dean says, smirking, “this is small beans compared to all that.”

“…Are you going to explain what that means or do I have to guess?”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Dean says, “By the way, we’re throwing a housewarming party this Saturday. Fair warning, I wouldn’t bring a date if I were you.”

“Why not?”

“Because Cas’s family is coming and they can be a bit… _strange_.”

“Stranger than him?”

Dean winks, “You have to see it to believe it, man. Trust me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for joining me on this Odyssey, let me know what you thought by dropping a kudos and/or a comment below!


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